Under Dim Lighting
by PervyPanda
Summary: "Same circus, different clowns." Reborn? Rebirth? Reincarnation? I'm not entirely sure of the correct term in this situation, but if you're reading this; I've probably gone insane. (A Male Self-Insert. SI/OC. No pairings as of yet. M for swearing.)
1. Chapter 1: Being born was traumatising

AN: Sorry, I felt the need to specify it was a Male self-insert because there way to fukin many female ones.

Anyway. Do enjoy.

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* * *

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"What happened…" My friend groaned.

"Lord Thunder-Butt farted on us I assume." It was gladdening to know I can manage the droll tone even in such dire situations like this.

There was another booming crack of thunder.

Percy flinched, I just rolled my eyes.

"C'mon, let's get yer Ma and Grover out."

Cause there may be a minor chance of a Minotaur squishing and shitting on our corpse in the near future.

I would rather not be corpsified… or defiled for that matter.

Leave that for the wedding night no?

There was distinct "moo" echoing the next lightning flash.

Better hurry.

"C'mon Perce."

 _'Seriously. Fuck you dad.'_

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* * *

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Being born was traumatising.

There's no other way of putting it.

To think there are multiple babies being born this very minute… it brings a tear to the eye.

Truly, sufferance connects us all.

Oh I'm sure it was pretty painful for the mother too, but I find the child to be the real victim here. They didn't ask for this shit.

I didn't ask for this shit.

All because some asshats couldn't keep it in their pants,

 _'Honestly.'_

Fortunately (from one point of view) my consciousness during the early days was sparse.

As a result my parents still experienced all the joys of normal babies.

Or, _parent_ actually. Singular.

Yes, daddy dear buggered off shortly after _the incident_ (birth), only sticking around to hear my name.

 _Arayan Ishraq._

Not cool man. Not cool at all.

 **I** _resurfaced_ somewhat more permanently on the night of my third birthday.

I came realise some things.

I Love my Mother more than life.

Mother was my world.

Mother was crying in her sleep whilst clutching me.

 _'Mother needs me.'_

My dad was a fool.

Abruptly, the world didn't seem so humorous.

The sun was harsh on those with no shade.

.

* * *

.

I didn't hold back.

I made no attempt to make it gradual, or soften the blow as it were.

I did not hide.

I just changed.

Yesterday I was a two-year-old.

Today I am me.

And I will keep mother safe.

Dawn was bright that morning.

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* * *

.

Mum is largely Atheist. She sometimes prays, or at least goes through the motions, because it reminds her of home and calms her down, but it's mostly habit.

That doesn't change the fact she come from a Muslim heritage.

That doesn't change the fact we live in America.

It's 2001.

Life got tough.

 _Mothers hands became rough._

I am six.

 _Mother's smiles became small._

We are alone.

 _Mother's eyes became tired._

I can't protect mummy.

 _So I sang her lullabies._

The light of the setting sun seemed softer when I sing.

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* * *

.

We are rather poor.

Of course we are.

Mum is a single woman burdened with a useless seven-year-old.

She tries her best.

She provides.

But she also looks decades older than she should.

My heart bleeds.

Mother is my world.

 _Mother should be happy, mother should be beautiful, mother should be safe.._

So I stole.

Successfully.

We had our first argument in memory when she realised I was slipping extra money into her wallet.

We both lost.

She couldn't stop me. I made mother cry.

My heart bleeds.

I deserve it.

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* * *

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Mother lost her job. She was fired.

She worked as a maid.

There are many summer houses, cabins and caravan parks here.

Mum is hired to clean them when their owners or renters were away.

There are a lot here on the long island, so the pay should be decent.

It wasn't.

Mummy started working on multiple jobs.

I started cooking for the both of us.

Mummy's getting grey hairs.

She's only just turned thirty.

My heart bleeds.

At the age of eight I started managing our finances.

Mother was too tired.

 _I must earn money._

Today was overcast.

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* * *

.

We moved from Montauk to New York.

I'm not aware of the specifics, but basically Mum made a friend.

We had been hopping around apartments for a while, never being able to stay too long in one place… for whatever reason.

It's not like _all_ our problems come back to it, not at all, but in the end we are brown people in a white country. This is a disadvantage.

I don't tend to form strong connections, but I have been friends with people of all race and culture.

However others are not so accepting.

We really are an easy target for racists,

And target us they have. Many times.

But we may have finally found a ray of light.

Mum's friend has offered steady employment in her sweet store.

Except it's in New York.

Mum was hesitant.

So was I, at first. But then I felt _something_.

A warmth in my chest, it felt nice. It felt like Reassurance. I had a premonition.

"Everything will be fine." I said to my mother.

I surprised myself with the certainty.

Mother looked surprised, but them smiled and stroked my head.

There were mixed emotions on her weathered face.

I could see a myriad of thoughts troubled her.

Her eyes couldn't decide whether to water or not as she looked at me.

In the end she just looked at me with love.

She agreed to the offer.

Later that day I learnt that the friend who offered to employ her was actually alerted my another friend of Mum.

One of the Boss Friend's employed actually.

A woman who bonded with Mum over their similarities.

Same aged kids, lonely, hard worked, early greys, absent sperm donors…

Mum cried happy tears over the phone as she thanked her other friend for recommending her.

For the second time that day I felt an abnormal stirring in my chest.

For I seem to recognise the name 'Sally Jackson'.

It was faint though.

Then I heard them talk about blue sweets.

It clicked.

 _'... Fuck you dad.'_

The sun was annoyingly bright.

.

* * *

.

Perseus Jackson.

It was a (literal) lifetime away, but I recall the books.

Didn't like the movie yet I remember that too.

Perseus Jackson was the protagonist, a Greek Demigod, the Son of the Sea, saviour of Olympus (twice over I think) and the guy to do Greek stuff with the Romans.

The books were really entertaining, I had a brief obsession with them halfway through secondary school (high school).

 _'It was also fictional.'_

Staring into the vivid sea green eyes of the child before me I felt the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity.

 _'Key word being_ was _.'_

Then I felt my heart sink.

Ever since I heard the name "Sally Jackson" I'd only been thinking of myself. Running circles in my head, having an existential crisis, contemplating my sanity, contemplating the truth of the universe…

But now my fears (hopes?) were confirmed, I finally started thinking of the consequences.

This time not only for myself.

I almost gulped.

The woman I loved more than both lives combined stood behind me.

A tired mother suffering to protect her son stood nearby.

I was looking into the eyes of an innocent _child_.

They were all in terrible danger.

However this also presented a great opportunity.

My palms felt clammy, by throat dry and my eyes itchy.

But I smiled.

The boy before me flinched.

" _Hello Perseus..._ "

Later he said I sounded like Voldemort.

I did not.

Honest.

It was more akin to Hannibal Lecter really.

But that's above his age range I suppose.

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* * *

.

Suddenly my light brown eyes were gold.

Or perhaps they were always gold.

Probably.

When the mythological interacted with the mundane "Mist" is created.

Mist confounds the senses, rationalises things. Warps perception to fit our petty minds and tiny rules of science.

This separates the mortal from… well _my_ world, I suppose.

I suspect this won't be the first time my eyes are opened, then opened again.

My eyes were pretty much exactly the same as mother's. I was happy about that. Very happy.

But it seems mine eyes come from my father's side.

Shifting shades of gold, not metalic in any way, but somehow heavy.

They were steady, stately and sombre.

Eyes of someone used to looking over great and majestic scenery. Somewhat intimidating and sometimes indifferent but also warm and soft to those I deem worthy.

Combined with my dusky skin and black hair I look like a foreign prince.

 _Eyes of a prince..._

I blink and frown at my reflection.

 _According to Percy anyway._

 _'What foolishness.'_

I can't view my eyes when I'm using them to look at shit can I?

 _Perhaps I can imagine them being indifferent, but intimidating?_

To me they remind be of dusk.

Sinking and surrounded by hues of red and orange, the final hazy golden light of the sun before it recedes behind the horizon.

I always thought it to be a rather lazy light.

The moment marking when creatures of the day begin to doze and denizens of the night start to rouse.

A moment of inaction, comfortable lull...

I snort.

 _Eyes of a slob._

Sombre? _Weak_. Stately? _Blank_. Steady? _Dumb_. Useless eyes befitting a useless boy.

I would prefer they really do match Percy's description, but I just can't see it.

 _I'm only me, I'm pathetic... not whatever he sees. Heh, Percy can be pretty dumb at times._

I would prefer bright eyes. Sharp eyes, eyes of a leader, eyes that promote change. Eyes of a protector… and of a predator.

Eyes of power. Eyes belonging to someone worthwhile.

 _Not these._

My throat felt tight as I glared at my reflection.

 _Eyes of someone who could protect mother._

I grit my teeth as a sudden pain assaults me,

 _Not these._

I scrunch up my eyes, gripping the sink hard.

 _Not these._

I let loose a tired breath.

 _Not these…_

No, these aren't the eyes of a prince.

I look up at my reflection, still dripping of water slightly.

 _That isn't the face of a prince._

I just look tired, and somewhat defeated.

 _These eyes of mine aren't bright._

"Tch."

To me they look rather dim.

"Heh." I let out a single wry chuckle.

 _'Gods be damned, I'm a depressive nine-year-old.'_

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* * *

.

Despite the occasional (read: rather often) bouts of pessimism, depression and wanton angst, life had improved from that of two year ago.

Mum has a much more stable income, friends, social life and housing.

"Sweet on America." A shit name if you ask me, but I was British, what do I know.

SoA was actually an all female staffed shop. Though there was only a total of seven employees anyway.

The Boss lady, Ma's employer, a stern looking woman in her forties is pretty big big on female rights movements and similar notions.

I've met her and her husband a few times and it's pretty obvious who wore the pants in that relationship. Add in the fact the couple are childless even after two decades of marriage, and the looks some of the staff send her on surprise inspections…

Well.

Who knows what goes on behind closed doors.

Though it would seem Ma is fortunately not interested.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind same sex relations at all, that is no problem with me. I even dated a guy back in college for a while.

And I'm rather grateful to Boss lady for going out of her way (all the way to Montauk) to employ Mum. But I don't think I would approve of that relationship.

I would be the first to admit I put my mother on a pedestal.

My mother is my world. I realised this when I was three and not much has changed.

The idea of Ma doing… _things_ , with a suspected dominatrix like Boss lady… just rubs me the wrong way.

Of course if Ma was the one doing the dominating, that's a whole 'nother story.

But I should probably stop going down that train of thought.

My stomach is threatening war.

 _I wave the white flag._

I huff.

Naturally should Ma want to earnestly pursue a relationship with either gender, I would not stop her.

If it makes her happy, I would never stop her.

These are merely private thoughts, ones I will never voice aloud.

 _Never_.

Ma is free, _should_ be free.

That means she _should_ be free of me too.

But I am selfish.

She'd probably slap me for thinking so, but I can't help it.

I did say I would be the first to admit I put mother on a pedestal didn't I?

I would also be the first to admit I've damn near deified her too.

 _Though I would kill you a moment later so you can't tell Ma._

From this is born my inferiority complex. Part of it anyway.

I _am_ mildly self-aware y'know.

I huff.

But that talk is neither here nor there.

I should move on.

Gotta congratulate Percy on his impending expulsion.

I chuckle. Some passing pedestrians shuffle away from me.

To think he managed to make another teacher quit… and this one wasn't even a monster.

"Tut, tut."

 _'I'll be sure to award him backhanded praise later'_ I nod.

Of course that's only after beating him down in sword practise and verbally abusing the little sea-spawn to my heart's content.

I nod again.

As is right.

I sigh as I think of how lucky Percy is to have me.

 _The barbed whip of love may hurt now but you will learn to love it young apprentice._

Though it pains me so, I will toughen my heart and whip you as much as required. It is inevitable! Accept my Love!

 _'Hur hur.'_

The fresh meat (new teacher) should be arriving today as well.

The school got this one on rather short notice so I can't help but wonder if it's a monster.

I contemplate a bit as I walk before shrugging.

 _'Eh, if it is, it is. So be it.'_

Same circus, different clowns.

Looking up to the sky, I smirk.

"Arayan!" Ah, there's my sea-spawn.

"Coming."

Father's chariot looks positively _wonderful_ through the polluted smog today.

Please note the sarcasm.

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* * *

.

A while back, I was still wondering who my dad was, and if they were actually from the Greek Pantheon.

To my vague and faint memory, I recall there were three pantheons in America. The Greek, Romans and Egyptians.

I don't remember the details though.

Honestly Egyption would have made more sense given Ma's heritage, but I think I recall their "demigods" were more divine possession or something.

It was further ruled out when I realised Hieroglyphs meant as much to me as the next (non-godly) guy.

So that left me with (as far as I know) Greek or Roman.

There was also the chance I was a "legacy". The son of a mortal and demigod (or further watered godly blood) and not of "direct" lineage.

In which case my sperm donor really did bugger of because he was a dick and not "ancient law".

However that was tentatively ruled out with how easy I took to Ancient Greek _and_ , worryingly enough, Latin.

I surmised only relatively strong god-blood would provide such ease. That lowered the chances of me being a legacy, I didn't _completely_ rule it out but it was on the back-burner for now.

I hit a slight conundrum, but chose to believe there was a valid reason for this and I was not some bullshit Gary Stu son of Rome and Greece destined to unite them... or similar crap like such,

So I rationalised the quick learning speed of Latin is probably due to the two years of tutelage I had in my old life.

I still remember the basic formatting (I, you [singular], he/she/it, we, you [plural], they) so much of it was just reassigning what I learnt to a higher standard.

However Ancient Greek was something I've never touched before. Something I wouldn't even have touched with the fucking Master Bolt back then, _damnable GCSE's…_

Yet I picked that up just as quick as Latin.

So, in the public library I was at, reading up on the ancient languages, I eventually came the assumption I was at least a bit Greek.

Thus I was left to ponder exactly which Greek was my divine sire (or ancestor).

I really only had two probabilities.

I considered Hermes, with how successful my pick-pocketing is and my athletic ability, but my skill with thievery is mainly due to my past life experience and my athletics is mainly due to me training since a young age.

I'm not especially talented in any sport, nor do I feel drawn to it in any way. Stealing is a necessity, there are times I feel some thrill but it does not bring me happiness. I feel far too guilty at disobeying mother's wishes to enjoy the adrenaline rush.

There is still the option of me being a Hermes legacy, making my thieving inclination less than a demigod, and Hermes being the god of travels also lends credence to daddy-dear going bye-bye when Ma poped me out.

But I was far to draw to the second option to really consider that. It just felt right.

Apollo, god of music, poetry, arts, oracles, archery, herds and flocks, diseases, healing, light, sun, knowledge and protection of young. That makes far more sense to me.

Number one was the "premonition" I had about going to NY. Apollo being god of oracles and prophecy might explain it. I recall the feeling I had at the time was warm, like the sun and so incredibly _certain_. I just _knew_.

Number two was art. I was an art student in my other life, I assumed the talent I showed in this life was simply a carry over, and the rapid improvements I made in the subject was due to a child's learning adaptability.

And perhaps much of it was.

However creating a damn near perfect copy of the Mona Lisa and selling it on the streets for nearly one-thousand dollars at the age of **eight** … is going a bit far no?

Number three was poetry and music. I didn't do singing. I still don't. However I can do it. I could lull mother to sleep in seconds with my singing since the age of four. I've never sung for anyone else, but I know I can. I can also pick out the individual instruments, missed beats and perfect notes of a hundred person plus classical orchestra. It's instinctive.

 _I liked classical in the other life but this was on another level._

Number four was archery. I was already fairly sure at this point but I wanted to confirm. There was no way I was going to waste money buying a bow or signing up for any classes, so I bought a plastic toy bow and arrow set. I could shoot the suction tipped arrows twice as far as I should be able and hit a target I had no business in hitting.

For a pre-teen touching a bow for the first time in either lives, it was pretty much confirmed.

However the nail in the coffin came from mother.

The number of times I've asked Ma about my sperm donor could be counted on one hand, thus she was understandably surprised when I asked how they met.

"I was at an art gallery. He said he liked my name."

 _Ishraq._

It is an Arabic name meaning "sunrise", "daybreak" and more metaphorically; "illumination", "emergence" and "vividness".

 _My father is Apollo._

As I stared directly at the sun, I noticed I didn't get flouters nor did the light hurt my eyes.

I could view it as easily as I would have the moon.

I made a face.

 _'That would be my aunt then?'_

I hummed.

 _'This is weird'_

The sun was bright that day.

Naturally, I gave it the double middle finger.

.

* * *

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AN: That's it for now. Just trying to get into the groove. Not sure when the next chapter will come.


	2. Chapter 2: Eat your gays

AN: I'll only do this once.

I don't own Percy Jackson, Heroes of Olympus or the Kane Chronicles.

So don't get your panties in a twist.

Back to story.

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* * *

.

"Sir, Why is gay marriage forbidden?" Percy dear, you don't ask that in the classroom. It makes adults uncomfortable.

I want to know too though.

The teacher was understandably confounded, doing a rather nice impression of Mister Bean right now. I don't blame him though, it's not the type of question you would expect whilst teaching the seven life processes.

However he couldn't just dismiss it, it was a serious and mature topic after all.

 _Ignore the snickering._

Now that Perce has caught the entire class's attention (and ain't that weird), should teach simply pass it off, scold the questioner or disregard the query, he suddenly becomes the bad guy.

Because upon witnessing Percy render an adult speechless, the other imps present will no doubt ask the same question of their unsuspecting guardians, thus leading the unfortunate souls to flounder and squirm whilst trying to give the most politically correct non-answer possible before banishing the demon spawn back to their bedrooms.

 _'The non-homophobic ones anyway.'_

Of course that is not before they have interrogated where on Gaea the little fiends had heard such a topic.

Thusly, they would supply: "School!"

Thusly, all will no doubt blow back to this hapless twat writhing before us.

Should said twat answer in any way "incorrectly"... he would be completely and utterly screwed.

 _'Parent Associations can be terrifying.'_

Alas, such is a world we are born into. Such a scary, scary world.

 _Good morning America._

With no answer forthwith, I deciding to throw the teacher a bone.

Let's get the ball rolling.

"It's because some people find it disgusting and repulsive."

Indiana style.

 _Careful not to be squished teach._

But before teach could get passed the choking and spluttering phase, a young yet slightly hoarse voice cried out from my right.

"That's stupid!" Indeed it is young one.

I flash a smile (rather rare) to the one who answered; my deskmate.

Allow me to introduce you all. This girl with her unique husky voice is Domitia, It comes from the Latin word _domitus_ meaning 'having been tamed', however she is anything but ' _tamed_ '.

At the tender age of ten she is outspoken and bright with what Percy called; "a wicked grin". I can't really see it but she certainly has rather sharp incisors and canines, much like the wolves and dogs she so adores.

Despite her likable personality, she is somewhat estranged due to her albino condition, dry voice and impulsive behavior (owing to her ADHD).

Possessing neck length white, almost silver, hair and wild red roving eyes, most children are… _nervous_ when in close proximity.

She is also the sole other existence next to Percy I have accepted as a friend.

Reaching up to scratch behind her ear (just where she liked it) I can't help but indulge her, teacher completely sidelined.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because~" she shudders as I hit a spot, "If you are gunna ban sumiin 'cause it's disgusting, why isn't vegetables banned and math work banned? They are disgusting!" I couldn't help but widen my smile, her whiney voice is downright adorable, especially when her whole body twitches with every minute movement of my finger. I've no idea why she doesn't have more friends.

Though it would seem the class has become acclimated to her now than at the start of the year going by the general murmurs of agreement.

"Yah…" was the overall consensus.

"Well-" The teacher seemed to have finally found an opening-

"What's wrong with vegetables?!" But was _tragically_ cut off.

Two rows directly in front of us sat Percy and his deskmate, an boy of Asian descent and vegetarian, of whom I am somewhat acquainted with due to he being a regular companion to Percy in detention.

 _Plus being a vegetarian myself in the other life, I felt a certain kinship with the rare breed._

"You should eat your veggies!" He continued.

I agree, you should.

"Do gay people eat their veggies?" I assume so- wait who asked that?

Before I could check the classroom erupted into furious whispers.

Apparently this was a topic of considerable importance.

Soon enough the children were walking resolutely right off the cliff of intellect into a sea of stupidity.

"You are what you eat!"

"Are gay people veggies?"

"Are veggies gay?"

 _Bloody lemmings._

At least it's entertaining.

Just have to ignore the spoilsport adult, he doesn't know shit anyhow.

Percy seemed to be enjoying himself, original question lost at sea, debating animatedly with anyone within earshot.

 _'He does his (possible) future mother-in-law proud.'_

Ah well, at least the tyke succeeded in his original objective: to win a break for an ADHD addled mind.

I, feeling no need to interrupt the kids respite, simply leant back and relaxed to observe the germinating turmoil.

"If gays are veggies, what does that make trees huh?!"

"Asexual stupid!"

 _'They're ten, how do they even know what that means?'_

I can't help but roll my eyes.

 _Now in the Shallows of Relative Stupidity, the anchovies advance on the continental shelf, risking life and fin by edging the border to open waters._

Careful children, that way madness lies…

As a mental adult, I can not connect with children the way other children might, nor do I think I can engage with them or energise them as their peers do.

But I can look over them. I can guide and aid them when they need it, I can _understand_ them and bridge their differences when need be.

With my unique perspective I am able to help them.

 _'Right now, they deserve a break.'_

And at least in this matter I can allow myself to smile softly at a job well done.

 _'Privately that is. I have a reputation to uphold.'_

Oh?

One of the primary instigators to the entire event seems to be in a pickle.

Domitia, who had thus far declined to take part in the debate save her initial outbursts, and now bereft of ear scratches shows signs of distress!

 _'For some reason I thought that in a faux-surprised voice of a Blue Peter presenter...'_

Her shaggy white hair flopping this way and that as she animatedly surveyed the class chaos. You could practically see the panicked _'awawa-awawa'_ going through her mind.

Whether it was panic at inadvertently causing it, having the attention snatched from her or perhaps something other, I didn't know.

Minute trembling wracked her frame as she bit her lip, a look of determination crossing her face.

 _'It was absolutely adorable.'_

Taking a deep breath and puffing out her chest she shouted over the raucous din;

"But I don't wanna eat my gays!"

Instant silence.

 _'… I swear I've heard that line before somewhere.'_

Domitia upon receiving the attention of all, was no less panicked.

She started babbling.

"Veggies-are-people-and-have-rights-and-families-"

I rolled my eyes one more.

 _'She's digging a ruddy big hole for herself here…'_

As much as bullying small animals feeds the (not so secret) sadistic side of my blackened stone-dead heart, I don't _actually_ want Domitia to end up crying and isolated once more.

And however much I wish to keep her to myself, _'to bully, roll around, squish and play with',_ she deserves more friends.

A kind and happy child like her could have had so much more if not for her albinism and the ignorance of children.

I sigh.

That means I should stop her.

 _'The kids have had a long enough break anyway.'_

Once more I reach out to her ear…

"But-mama-always-gives-me-extr-"

And pinch.

"You'll eat the gays your mother gives you and you will enjoy it." I state. For it was a statement. Yer mama works hard ya brat.

Ignoring the now vocal " _awawa-awawa_ " sounds, I drag her back into her seat.

"Now sit down." She sits.

Basking in the pleasant feeling her "ouchie-ouchie" murmuring (which were absolutely adorable) gave me for only a moment, I turned back to the "big fish"

"Carry on." I say.

There were some rustles around the classroom as the teacher mechanically turned back the whiteboard, face meticulously blank, as he continued to write with rather twitchy arm movements.

 _'Ah… he nears his end.'_ I mournfully realise.

The madness today was most likely the second to last straw. He'd been fraying quite a bit over the last two months we'd had him.

He's teetering. Unfortunately he is most certainly going to be kicked whilst he's down.

And not even by us.

No, the knockout blow will come from the Parents Association.

Indeed... for he answered "incorrectly".

The teacher may try his damnedest to forget the last five minute, but these munchkins won't.

They will report dutifully to their mothers, who will make "inquiries" with the school, who will no doubt shift all blame to the ignorant mortal before us.

The school has some practise with such practises after all, this being the fourth this year and all.

 _'Such a shame, R.I.P, I regret your ignoble death but it can't be helped. Mind the door on the way out. Please don't get your blood on the carpet.'_

The rest of the day was uneventful, previous absurdity all but forgotten.

The children were little angels and the teacher seemed to be having Vietnam flashbacks.

An average Friday.

 _'Looks like we'll have yet another new teacher in the coming weeks.'_

Ah well. At this point we were largely autonomous anyway.

"You two want to come to my place?"

""Sure!"" Came the double replies.

Percy, Domitia and I spent the rest of the day mucking about at my place.

I smirk.

They were adorable.

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* * *

.

First of all, let me just say I'm am aware Domitia has _some_ sort of connection to the supernatural, _'silver is not a natural hair colour,'_ but it's pretty weak as far as I can tell.

I'm leaning towards Roman due to her name and mother (who's a bit weird), however she's still very much human.

I might even go as far to say she was a handicapped human at that.

Although Domitia's slightly silvery hair (that seemed white to others) is very beautiful to my eye, her albinism has no merits or pros. It is a con.

Domi (as I shall now refer to her as) has vision problems, she can't see clearly beyond ten-ish meters, a skin condition, her skin is hypersensitive to the sun and flakes easily, poor constitution, she ails easily, and has a higher chance for skin cancer.

 _'Though I hope the skin cancer may be countered by her possible connection with the supernatural.'_

The reason she likes my scratches so much is not only due to her imitating her favoured canines but also because I scratch the itching skin off.

Perhaps because I'm the son of the god of healing, what others may find repelling or squeamish is completely normal to me. I understand it is a natural thing and the instinctive disgust we all feel at another man's "waste" is repressed.

Or it could also be because I'm a mental adult and she's a cute kid.

 _'Either or.'_

Despite all her impediments Domi does her best to work around it.

"Got your sunblock?"

"Yep!" Peppy as always.

"Okay, let's go."

""Wheeyyy!""

Today my minions and I will be going to the park.

Domi wearing her long sleeved skin-tight sportswear thing to stop skin flakes going all over her clothes, and reduce where she needs to put sunblock, with shorts and t-shirt on top.

Percy in shorts and tee with a blue sombrero.

Myself also in the usual shorts and tee but with an oversized hoodie too.

It was a pleasant day. Not to hot, not to bright, not to windy but juuust right.

I take a step and stop.

 _'Ugh.'_

I had a feeling. A stirring. Faint but there.

A flag had arisen.

"Wait." Percy and Domi new better to ignore me when I used that voice.

Tired and slightly resigned but firm.

I pull out a strange looking coin from my pocket.

Domi and Perce have frowns, they know where this is heading.

The coin was a historical recreation, not perfectly round and slightly lumpy, stained yellow to imitate gold.

On one side the side profile of a curly haired male, and on the other the impression of a harp.

I frown down at it.

It was faint but…

 _'Better safe than sorry.'_

I let out a slow sigh and close my eyes.

 _'Is there or is there not, that is the question.'_

The coin rests on my thumb and index finger.

 _'There is not; heads.'_

Flick.

I can hear the sound of a coin being flicked and though my eyes are closed there is still a faint light detailing the coin's arc through the air.

I catch the coin with my right palm and slap it onto the back of my left with an audible whack.

Opening one eye, I eye the coin being uncovered.

I twitch.

"Sorry you two." Perce and Domi groan but nonetheless trudge back up the stairs to my apartment.

I can't help but smile wryly at their sulky expressions.

 _'Tails… Which idiot raised a flag damn it.'_

On the back of my hand the harp glints in the sunlight.

I flick the coin once more.

A metallic noise permeates the lobby room.

It never comes down, only flaky crumbs, dust and slight amounts of a strange green mist.

But I had turned my back before the crumbs had even hit the floor, I'd seen it enough times.

Instead I follow my compatriots back up, an equally disgruntled look on my face.

 _'I was look forward to chasing the pigeons as well…'_

Bringing out one of the many Apollo Program leaflets I kept on my person, I stare at the museum product balefully.

I tear it up immediately then viciously bite it's the remains.

 _'That's better.'_

I was eating a lot of paper recently.

.

* * *

.

AN: There were a few complaints about the drabble formatting (Single sentence lines) and I apologize for that. I was simply writing how I thought, just wanted to get things down.

This time it's a bit more chunky, however I am unskilled so I'm not sure if it will be able to retain you reader's attention.

Please do tell me what you think of this chapter; too wordy? Stunted interactions? Crap dialogue? Pace not fast enough?

I feed of off feedback.

As a learning writer, I know there will be disappointing parts, but please give it a chance to improve.

Thank you for all the support, I shall try to live up to expectations.

PS: I hope I didn't offend anyone with the whole "eat your gays" skit at the beginning. I wrote it in good humour with no malicious intent. If you were offended I sincerely apologise. Should a number of people dislike it, I will take down the beginning part.

PPS: Anchovies really are the doofus fish of the sea. They basically spend all their life just bumping into each other. I mean if you're a fish at least swim straight y'know?


	3. Chapter 3: Magic in the morning

.

In a certain dimension, in a certain universe, in a certain galaxy, in a certain system, on a certain planet, on a certain continent, in a certain country, in a certain state, in a certain city, in a certain building, in a certain room, in a certain bed.

A certain man… was still asleep.

This is a story about the kid next door.

Lol.

.

* * *

.

As always, my eyes opened at dawn.

It took mere moments for my eyes to adjust on the cream coloured ceiling and my mind to get into working gear.

I gulped to wet my slightly dry throat and I was ready to get going.

I didn't though. Not yet.

For I was frowning.

I can't remember why.

A dream most likely, perhaps a prophetic one, perhaps just another nightmare... but the stirring in my gut and residue warmth in my chest suggests it was probably a prophetic one.

I was now frowning at the fact I was frowning.

My eyes aren't wet so at the very least it wasn't "Level Five".

My throat was dry so I may have been making noises; whimpers, groans, moans, gasps… perhaps I talked?

It could just be because the room is warm and dried out my throat, but then again, maybe not.

' _Sleep-talking… The most inconvenient way to make predictions.'_

I doubt I shouted or screamed, _those_ are usually accompanied by a feeling of terror even if I do forget them as I wake.

 _Those_ would also usually wake me in the night, breaking my sleep, today I woke naturally.

Not to mention had it really been on of _those,_ my sleeping companions would be curled up to me much closer than they are now…

So not level Five or Four.

' _Probably a level Three.'_

Had it been level One or Two I would have at least remembered _some_ of it, but as I haven't, it was most likely a dream beyond my grasp.

My frown deepened.

' _There's been a notable increase of those lately…'_

I breath out through my nose and let my frown ease.

Disconcerting it may be, I'm rather used to it now.

I have acknowledged something happened and the effects of the dream will make itself known when time is right.

Not much else I can do.

Sitting up, I can't help but smirk at my companions abysmal, yet oddly symmetrical sleeping habits.

Percy was to my left hugging his blue pillow, not sleeping on it, and slightly skewed of to the side with his legs over my lap, he was drooling.

Domi to my left mirrored him, hugging her wolf print pillow and with her legs over my lap under the covers, she was chewing on her pillow.

' _Adorable.'_

Myself, the only _normal_ one, remained in the centre sleeping _on_ my dollar bill pillow.

' _Though personally I miss the pound-coin print pillow of my other life, this would do for now.'_

Shuffling out from under my friends legs and the frankly gigantic shared duvet, I backwards roll off onto the floor.

Grabbing the recorder by the bedside I silently pad out of the room.

' _Time to clean up and make breakfast.'_

.

* * *

.

Unfortunately the recorder was a bust. Not unusual.

The majority of noises it picks up are mainly just farts and such, in fact ever since I bought it there has only ever been a single instance in which it picked up on some useful sleep talking.

It was shortly after I bought the thing (which was on a _hunch_ ) and the few words it managed to pick up _were_ rather useful in the coming days, but other than that?

Nada.

But oh well, I've bought it now. Better safe than sorry.

' _The amusing sleep-mumbling of my compatriots are amusing enough to keep it anyhow.'_

Even if it does cost way too much to replace it's batteries every few days…

Going through the recording whilst cooking breakfast has become a pleasant habit.

Though me cooking breakfast does depend on the season.

I wake with the sun so in Winter I'm rather slow getting up, but during the summer my days begin annoyingly early.

It being Autumn now, I've awoken at a decent six thirty-ish.

Today I'm making a hearty full English breakfast; mushrooms, eggs, toast, beans, sausage (for Ma and I), and bacon (for Domi and Percy).

Cooking such variety for four takes some time, plus I need to time it properly so it's still hot when everyone comes to eat, but I have practise now.

Cooking is a skill entirely acquired in this new life.

My repertoire in the other life consisted of toast, pasta and pot noodles.

' _No lie.'_

In this life however I enjoy mixing things up as much as I can and have attempted various breakfast dishes to varying success.

 _Homemade dosa, naan bread, haggis, homemade_ _croissants, homemade pancakes,_ _miso soup, tofu and fish, even tried making noodles from scratch that one time..._

Cooking is a pastime I now enjoy immensely.

 _The eggs, bacon and mushrooms ready to serve, sausages waiting in the oven, toast buttered and jammed to person preferences…_

I nod in satisfaction.

Stepping back I look at the clock.

 _7:02_

They should be getting up in a few minutes.

But so that the food doesn't go cold...

I clench my hand in front of me… and do _motherfukin magic._

 **Light coalesced.**

The dawn beams blearily peaking through the full wall window behind me _bent_. Curving towards my half clenched fist.

The rays of light at first looked solid, but then they began to "fray". They looked like millions of light-gold semi translucent threads of silk, light and soft. Barely even there.

But then they clumped.

Parts of light travelled faster, parts of the thread clotted, parts of the beams fractured, parts of the rays intensified.

The threads became dust.

 _Motes of dawn light._

The specks of light swirled around my half clenched fist like a whirlpool.

The dawn dust motes coalesced on my palm. Hovering a few centimetres above the skin in the vague form of a sphere.

Intense yet soft, it did not shine but _glow,_ it was precious, something to be treasured. It evoked the feeling of a newborn, like looking at a baby.

It was heart-stirring.

But there was no emotion, instinct yes, but it was skin deep. It was simply light. A herald, the first cry of a new day.

 _That_ was dawn-light.

Any prejudice or label we give it are simply due to our own perspective. Neither good nor bad, it was just... **new**.

Receiving from the steady stream of light gold "silk-thread", the dawn-light ball in my palm was about the size of a golf ball.

' _Like a tiny rasengan.'_

I ceased bending light, allowing the beams to snap back to their original destinations and returning the room to it's natural lighting.

Except now there was a lightly bobbing ball of golden light in my palm.

It was honestly a beautiful sight, breathtaking even. Like a glowing baby chick of gorgeousness…

 _I crushed it._

Fully clenching my fist and smothering the chick to death, I ground it corpse to bits within my hand.

I felt the ball solidify under the pressure, then promptly crumble.

This wasn't like dawn dust motes, it was more physical, like what I imagine fairy dust would look like.

Glittering and gaudy gold.

I clenched harder and brought it to eye level.

It looked like I was holding a torch in my hand, you could see the light illuminating my flesh.

I closed my eyes, breathed deep and focused.

" _Hnnnnnnn-_ "

I imbued it with my purpose.

" _Nnnnnnnn-_ "

My intent.

" _Nnnnnnn-_ "

My determination.

" _Nnnnnn-_ "

My resolution.

" _Nnnnn-_ "

With iron will I formed the spell-

" _Nnnn-!_ "

And cast it with supreme poise.

"Nyah!"

With a deft flick of my hand, the desecrated remains of a baby chick flew out over the food, settling as domes over the pans and plates of our breakfast.

"Umu." A job well done.

I rub my nose in pride, I'm the best. Go me.

Truly, my magnificence knows no bounds.

"Bwahahahahaha!"

The thin, near invisible, layer of "fairy dust" would... keep the food warm.

A victory dab is performed.

.

* * *

.

"""Bye Ma/Ms Ishraq~"""

Our ritual is conducted.

Myself in the middle, Domi on the right, Percy on the left, our little arms encircle the waist of my most important woman.

We hug her tight.

I nuzzle into her stomach.

In reply there is the usual kindly and gentle laugh as hands brush over our heads with love.

I can feel the vibration of her voice through her body.

"Goodbye children. Be safe."

 _Smooth and warm and motherly and gentle and dating and serene and light and-_

I could go on.

Tightening for one last squeeze we let go as one.

There were identical smiles on Domi and Percy as we looked up at her before heading off.

Over the years Ma had become a second mother for the two after all.

But still Ma bends down to give me a kiss on the head as usual.

Only for me.

' _I'm still her favourite.'_

I puff out my chest.

"Be safe son."

You jelly?

You should be.

.

* * *

.

Awhile back, I gave Percy an ultimatum.

This was a few years ago, before we met Domi and we were only nine. Percy and I had only met each other under a year ago.

But...

"For now, believe my lies."

But I told him thus.

"Ignore them if you wish, but know that in doing so you put your mother at risk."

Looking back, my speech was probably a bit too sophisticated for a child to fully grasp, but Percy got the gist.

He had a choice; he could accept it, or not, and put his mother in danger, which really, wasn't much of a choice at all.

While not quite on my level, Percy was also a "momma's boy" of some renown.

In the end, I was going to lie to his face without remorse or shame and expect him to accept it.

Not only that, but I'm blatantly telling him beforehand and using his mother as a way to stem the flow of complaints before it starts, effectively blackmailing him into compliance.

Percy nodded " _okay"_ without a second thought.

"..."

I sighed in exasperation. It was expected. Yet I couldn't help but roll my eyes and look to the heavens in askance.

Loyalty truly is his greatest strength and weakness.

' _... Well, whatever.'_

I run my hand through my hair and wonder what the heck I was getting worked up for.

Now that he had accepted the terms and conditions, I squared my shoulders and looking straight in the eye.

"Aliens exist." I told him. "And the majority of them are trying to kill us."

He blinked. He didn't laugh or smile, the same serious (adorable) frown remained on his face. He understood the gravitas of the situation.

Be it by my voice, the look in my eye, the fact I went out of my way to tell him this when we were alone and secluded, or perhaps just his instincts, he understood the basis.

' _We are in danger.'_

He nodded.

From what he told me, Percy attracted enough monsters by himself as it was, but with another demigod in the mix, encounters have rocketed over the past six months.

Demigods have a scent, this attracts monsters. The stronger the demigod the stronger the scent.

Percy is a son of Poseidon, one of the "big three" and thus has great potential, he attracts more than what I assume is normal.

 _However._

Percy is still young and thus weak, thus his scent is not what it will be in the future, not only that but he _doesn't know he's a demigod_.

This lessens the stench considerably.

I aim to keep it that way.

However he _needed_ to know.

I had a prophetic dream, an inkling on what may come to pass should Percy remain unaware.

Or _completely_ unaware anyway.

It was my fault.

Percy had it bad enough as it was, but add in the stench of a self aware demigod?

This was my fault.

 _So I lied._

"We are what are known as _clear-sighted mortals_ , a rarity. There are not many of us and most are too weak to do anything."

 _Sorta._

"Aliens have infested the world. The aliens can not be seen by normal people, ' _mortals'_ , because of something called the mist that covers their view, only the few, us, can see them clearly."

It's bullshit. Perce is lapping it up.

"The invaders have taken on the forms of our myths and legends, the forms of _monsters_."

Percy looks like he's trying to remember something he'd _thought_ was unimportant.

"They take on different forms around the world, generally sticking to themes of sorts. Here, in New York and it's surrounding areas, the aliens are inspired by Greek mythology,"

He looks confused.

"From now on I will teach you of them, and how we will defend ourselves from them. "

He nods.

"We will fight them together as comrades. Do you agree?"

He nods.

"Good… For now that is all you need to know."

He nods.

"Do you have any questions?"

He nods.

"Yes?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He frowns, his brow furrows, unsure on how to articulate the question.

Don't blame him.

He is only nine.

That was a lot to take in.

Eventually he decides on what to say.

"What the fuck?"

"... Where'd you learn that word?"

"You."

"Shit,"

"..."

.

* * *

.

My apartment is pretty swanky,

Situated on the twentieth floor of a twenty-two story high-rise apartment building in New York, it's large, it's comfortable, it's rent is also suitably expensive.

Now you may wonder how lil ol' me and ma went from living in rundown apartment blocks and jumping between empty, unheated and unused defunct holiday homes, to this deluxe design, family sized, ritzy palace (I may be exaggerating)... well.

' _Allow me to enlighten you.'_

[Play the Godfather theme song]

 **Crime pays.**

…

…

I'm kidding.

[Stop playing]

' _Mostly.'_

But no, I have not needed to pickpocket or break the law in order to make ends meet of late.

'Needed _to anyway'_

No, for you see; Art pays, a lot. And just like sex, age pays too.

When I was eight, and still living back at Montauk, I had scraped together some money to buy a canvas and some decent quality paints.

You see I was excelling in art at school, not ridiculously, I wasn't putting much effort in after all, but far beyond what a pre-teen should be doing.

It was around this time that I had won my first art competition, the first of many, that mum had entered me in. In celebration she got me some kiddy paints and a nice paintbrush.

I tried out some stuff casually and realised there may be potential for money.

I got a bit serious,

I went outside and set up my equipment. I started to paint landscape.

It gathered a crowd.

I didn't mean to, there were actually quite a few painters lined up looking out over the ocean which gave me the idea in the first place, but it gave me an idea.

Busking is illegal for those under fourteen, a fucking pain in the ass law, but _could_ use the crowd as advertisement.

 _I stepped up my game._

I started doing recreations.

I entered more art competitions.

I started talking with fellow artists.

 _The ray of light I was waiting for came._

One day, when I was painting near the beach (way harder than you'd think due to the wind) a man approached me.

Not unusual, it was common for there to be two or three people watching me work, sometimes from a distance, sometimes they would talk to me.

I display the works completed that day by my side for people to view as well.

However this one was different from the usual joggers or strolling couples.

He was dressed in a suit, had slicked back hair, a straight and proper posture and a frickin jewel topped cane.

The guy was rich.

He also had a full tooth grin and a slightly mad light in his eyes.

The guy was eccentric.

A pretty lady in heels and a smart, slightly less expensive, looking suit came up wobbling behind him with a slight frown.

The guy had a secretary.

' _I want a secretary…'_

"I want to buy your work."

The guy was an art enthusiast.

I was understandably suspicious. However the secretary woman, us being in a public place, and the fact we were in broad daylight assured most of my worries.

He probably wasn't trying anything dodgy.

I was still a bit confused though. _Yes_ , this was my ultimate aim, making money off of my art, but I expected it to happen in an order.

I was _socialising_ (spit, spit) with fellow painters in hopes they may recommend me to a gallery or exhibition where I may display my work, or spread my name to those who could.

From there others might take notice of said works, and maybe drawn in by my young age.

Then, _maybe_ , I could entice them into buying my artwork. It didn't matter for how much, but it would allow me to get my foot in the door to the artworld.

However soon my confusion became understanding with the new arrival of yet another.

One of my "friends".

It would seem my plan had worked far better than I thought.

She had forgone recommending me to a gallery or whatever, and went straight to one of her patrons.

I had just skipped a few steps.

"Please, please, please, please, pleeeaassee~"

I was both mildly disgusted and somewhat impressed.

For an older guy, his puppy dog eyes were half decent.

Unfortunately for him, I tend to despise anything cuter than me and male.

"Nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars." Now he can haggle it dow-

"Sold!"

"…"

I asked my Ma to sell it.

Thus an A4 recreation of the Mona Lisa I made was sold for almost a grand.

The guy also wanted to buy my other work for the same price but his secretary shouted him down.

In the end, my best A4 works sold for twenty-five dollars apiece, and the few A3 words I considered up to standard were sold for forty dollars apiece.

I sold the majority of my stockpile.

I earnt nearly three grand in a day.

The guy said he would like to buy any more I make.

 _I'm pretty sure my eyes were $ signs._

Shorty after, we moved to New York and I became aware of my possible parentage.

I continued to sell to the guy, now of NYC skylines, iconic landmarks and portraits.

I had also begun (with permission from the owner) setting up outside Sweet on America (stupid name) to draw passerby for a price.

It's not busking, but also not strictly legal due my age, however it's also not something most people are really willing to call you out on.

Thus I got some nice pocket change and attracted more customers for the shop.

I no longer needed to steal. I no longer had to endure those _looks_ Ma gave me when she caught me sneaking money into her purse.

Around a year after we were living in NY, a few months after I informed Percy we were hunted by aliens.

The guy informed me he wanted me to be the artist spotlight at an exhibition he was hosting.

I agreed for a cut of the entry fee.

Those three nights the event was hosted, I earnt a total of six thousand dollars, with further eight hundred dollars in the following two week.

The six grand came from the upfront cut of the entry fee, and patrons buying some work at the end of the day. The further eight hundred were buyers contacting me over the next few weeks.

My name was now out there. In some capacity, my name was known, my art was wanted.

From there…? Well. Private commissions, competitions, tournaments, advertisements, my work was even getting auctioned.

' _Art pays. Age pays.'_

We bought the condo when I was ten. By then I was getting money from commissions and tournaments in a semi-stable flow.

I still sold the majority of my artwork to the guy though.

I had forgone A4 pieces and focused on larger A3 or A2 paintings, I could afford to have a pretty high standard at that point so most work I didn't allow to sell, but 4/5 of the ones I do go to the guy.

The remaining are kept for a rainy day, to display exclusively at certain events or to sell to one of my growing number of patrons I've attained through said events.

Ma still works at Sweet on America (stupid name) part-time but is now also continuing her art course at university.

Between Ma and I with our usually frugal lifestyle and my free schooling, the condo rent is our biggest expense, and _entirely_ manageable.

' _Art. Pays.'_

And that's how lil ol' me went from winter days huddled up in the dark without heating to a bright, roomy and warm family sized condo in one of the more expensive parts of the American capital.

Not bad eh?

.

* * *

.

Monsters are pretty dumb... Generally.

The smarter, more "sentient" monsters are generally the _named_ ones ' _Medusa, The Furies, Agrius and Oreius'_ , or just old ' _Elder Cyclops, Elder Giants and such.'_

It's not like you get named monsters just popping out the woodwork or anything, they are a rarity.

Knowing this, you should not be surprised to hear that the majority of monster encounters are… completely bloodless.

The monster, being dumb as a brick, would only realise the demigod had passed them _after_ the encounter.

Especially here, in New York. The stench of mortals is **overwhelming** , monsters can only smell the general area of their target. They only ever find the target if the victim panics or out of sheer dumb luck. Or so I'm told.

Not to mention, this is the residence of Olympus. Monsters simply _can not_ form groups or stay in one area without attracting unwanted attention.

Most monsters in the heart of New York travel alone or in pairs and no larger, never staying in one place more than a couple of days. As a result of this nomadic lifestyle, humanoid monsters more often than not appear as the homeless, and animalistic monsters simply appear as large strays.

Not only is this a result of their constant relocation, but also because it places them closer to their staple food source. That is to say; the homeless and strays.

With this in mind is generally pretty easy to avoid monsters all together by simply avoiding shady areas. However sometimes, that's just not an option.

Like now for example.

"... Arayan, that injured girl just ran into a very shady looking alley to run away from that giant scorpion didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"... Arayan, that girl had a glowing toothpick."

"Yeah."

"As in, really, a giant needle…"

"Yeah."

"No one else could see it."

"Yeah."

"... We gonna save her?"

"... Yeah." I gave one last mournful look at my falafel wrap. "Yeah, let's go."

Quite casually we jog over to the shady-looking-alley-you-should-really-avoid to chase down the giant scorpion and save the distressing damsel.

Percy is a bit confused at my seemingly indifferent actions.

"You take pont." No he's even more confused. I almost never let him take point.

Looking back at me he searches my face for any give on the abnormal situation, only to see general boredom.

Percy eventually nods his head, assured by my bored looks I had things under control. He took it a face value; I was in control, I was letting him take point, the girl was not in danger = this was a test.

He was correct on all accounts.

Ignoring the abnormalities and worries assured, Percy put his game face on.

I am honestly impressed at how a twelve-year-old could have such an intense glare.

I'm told mine is even more fierce, but I wouldn't know.

He pulled out a glowing bronze, switchblade stiletto knife, only about 20cm long pummel to tip. When folded it took on the form of a playable harmonica.

On his off hand he held a small circular "mirror". It had no frame or decoration and indeed to me it looking like a grey slate not reflecting anything, not a mirror at all. However the mirror was a bit special, it was enchanted after all.

No one but the one holding the mirror would be able to see its reflection, to all else it was just a grey slate.

Percy had positioned himself to the side of the entrance to the alley, it was already dusk and street was fairly out of the way as it was, so there was no one else about.

He held the mirror facing down the alley, using it to peek around the corner. Because it was enchanted there would be no reflection of light to alert whoever may be down there.

A good use of an otherwise useless trinket.

The harmonica/switchblade was allegedly created by a scallywag son of Ares who often found himself incarcerated. Unlike most of his siblings, it would seem this one had some sense of humour.

' _Or perhaps it was just ironic pragmatism?'_

Percy, from his crouched position, tilted the mirror this way and that, despite the imminent rescue mission he was relatively calm, thoroughly gathering information.

' _Good.'_

From early on, I exhaustively pounded some lessons through his bedrock-thick skull.

' _Caution does not mean cowardice. Panic causes tunnel vision. You can't save them if you're dead.'_ and perhaps the hardest lesson; ' _Your life is more important than theirs.'_

I think I did pretty well with all but that last one. Something I'm not all that displeased about to be honest, but Percy needs to know that there are people waiting for him. He may not believe that last lesson himself, but at least the _thought_ may be heavy enough to curb some of his recklessness.

' _I can only hope.'_

Confident that the path is clear, Percy lets loose his instincts.

A demigod's instincts are a strange thing, but from what I could tell when comparing Percy to the few others we have encountered, we concluded his are probably topnotch.

' _Be that due to his restless status as a son of Poseidon, Percy's natural talent or something else, I cannot confirm. Most likely it's a mixture of reasons.'_

With speed and practise unbefitting his size or age, Percy whirled whirled round the corner and down the alley in a half crouch. Keeping low and alert without sacrificing speed.

I had beat into him his size can be both a weakness and advantage. He has come to use it effectively in recent years.

Moving briskly down the narrow passage, flanked by red-brick estate flats and occasionally jumping the odd knocked over bin or boxes, we follow the scrape and scuffle marks left by the oversized scorpion.

Eventually we emerge to the sound of struggle.

An area completely boxed in by drab estate flats, grey pavement lined the space with a playground erected as the centrepiece.

A pen tiered with drab dying grass and worn rubber, it had a single yellow slide, two sets of swings and a roundabout. It was horrifying to my eyes.

A testament to just how soul crushing human expansion could be; when placed before the setting of tax-paid civil prisons, the yellow plastic of the slide was almost mocking, the seats of the swings were chewed and the roundabout covered in rust.

Even the grass seemed dull and listless,

There was no joy to be had here.

The place seemed to ridicule all those who looked at it. It possessed a bitter spirit. When I think what might go through the minds of those who live in these flats, those who look down from their balconies at this monument of failure, my fists clench.

I am once more reminded how lucky I am.

Currently the girl we had been tracking was putting the place to far greater use that the playground had seen in all its existence.

She was using the roundabout, placing it strategically between her and the scorpion, the scorpion unable to climb over or move around the obstacle quick enough was instead attempting to rip its way through the plaything.

Utilising its front claws it would snap and tear at rusted metal, steadily moving forward towards the girl on the opposite side.

However the girl was also smart. Using her giant needle and superior mobility she was constantly taking chances to (ahem) needle the leopard sized scorpion.

Whenever the monster got to deep into the roundabout she would move round the side and poke at it's tail base or claw, then either quickly move back to the opposite side should the scorpion back out, or spin the roundabout best she could to dislodge the monster should it continue to claw through.

At this time the plaything was already half destroyed, it could no longer spin and the scorpion has systematically destroyed the centre and corners best it could. Now the girl could not use the roundabout width to her advantage but should she stay directly opposite the scorpion would sooner or later just claw through.

From the look on her face, she understood this perfectly.

Percy rushed in.

 **Without** a battle cry (beat that into him) or any warning, Percy ran at the baby slide. Running up the "slide" part he used the height advantage and jumped from the playthings peak, using it as his springboard. With nary a dagger and the clothes on his back, my friend sailed through the air to his destination.

He had timed it perfectly.

The girl had just had her needle assault parried by the scorpion's front claw, her arm and armament temporarily thrown back, the scorpion was centred in the scrap remains of the plaything, tail and stinger poised to strike, when from the sky…

Percy's foot, backed with his full body weight, planted itself _into_ the unguarded back of the scorpion. The monster buckled. There was a crunch.

With another stride, carried forwards by his falling momentum, Percy reached his true target. His stiletto knife sinking neatly into an unprotected neck.

' _Good lad.'_

Mist dissipated, revealing the three sets of beady pupiless eyes of the "girl." One pair set in normal human placings, but the other two taking their place on her forehead. The "girl" suddenly revealed a receding hairline, black hair becoming withering grey, youthful flesh becoming wrinkled, with lumps of chitin layering her jaw and mouth.

If they could, the "girl's" eyes would widen with shock.

There was a short pained gasp, revealing the pincers half hidden in the girls mouth, as Percy withdrew his knife. He then used it swiftly to cut of the arm "holding" the golden needle in one smooth motion.

A final gurgle accompanied the telltale sound of dust exploding. Both "girl" and "scorpion" suddenly unable to hold form, collapsed into golden dust like sand in the wind.

In a matter of seconds, there nothing but the cut off arm held by Percy and a few items of children's clothes on the floor left of them.

Percy looked to me in askance.

"Good job." I nod at him.

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* * *

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"When did you figure it out?" I ask Perce as we walk home.

"Well you letting me take point and the lack of worry was my biggest clue. You usually take things like that _way_ more seriously." Under the dimming light of sunset we conversed.

"Yeah, that _was_ a big giveaway." I was pissed at leaving my falafels…

"But other than that?" I nod. "The arm and the way she was fighting mostly." He admitted.

I motion him to continue.

"The was she was holding the needle was weird. There was pretty much no manoeuvrability, not even when she was 'thrown back.' It was abnormal. Like she wasn't holding the needle, but the needle was part of her arm…" He held up his spoil of war, "which it was."

Indeed in his hands was a needle like blade, no edge only a point, at the base of the blade there was no handle, but instead strings of flesh still half attached.

I was mildly impressed at how quickly Percy had gotten over the common squeamishness for this type of stuff.

"Then there was the way the alien was fighting," oh yeah, almost forgot about that lie, "she was moving good, skilled but pretty week, yet it was like she was aiming for _only_ the most heavily armoured parts of the scorpion."

Mmm. Although I said she was aiming at the claws and base of the tail, it precisely at the most armoured parts, always narrowly missing the uncovered weak points and joints.

To do that consistently she was rather skilled, but as Percy said, she was also weak. Even if she did hit a weak point it was doubtful she would do any real damage.

"Those were the two main things that went "ping" for me." He tapped his head. "There was also the way she was moving and looking about. I mean yeah it could be she was looking for help, but she was ignoring the scorpion _way_ too much. Instead of looking for help, it was like she was waiting."

Correct. Although you couldn't tell with the mist created eye illusions, she was certainly keeping an eye on her surrounding. I'm not sure if Perce realised but she even saw us when we got there, yet chose to feign ignorance.

Perhaps she might have been choosing to focus on the enemy before her and not give away our position, but on the other hand when we arrived she all of a sudden showed signs of "tiring." Becoming slightly more sluggish and subtly panting harder, giving the skilful impression she wouldn't last much longer.

' _Hurry the hell up.'_ Basically.

"And that final 'strike' confirmed it." Percy said. "When it got parried, her arm flew way back. Too far back. It's not like the scorpion claws would have a great range of movement or force behind them for anything but snapping, so that was obviously fake."

Yeah. When she was "thrown back", it also "conveniently" put her in position to do a full spear thrust. Should her incoming "savoir" had solely focused on the scorpion; for example instead of goomba stompin' on it and instead used their weapon to drive down on it, they would be temporarily immobile.

With their weapon in the back of the scorpion and momentum from the jump killed, they would make a fine target for the "maiden fair" who they had just so dashingly "saved."

An excellent bait and kill.

"And finally," Percy began grandly, "was my instincts warned me something was up."

"Good job listening then."

"Well I doubt I would have realised sumin' was if you didn't act so weirdly in the beginning… also you always said to trust my instincts." My friends pointed out.

"Yes. I did. It would be unwise to ignore them."

We continued in silence for a bit. Coming to more populated areas.

"By the way, was there any other gives?" Percy asked. "And I think I can already guess, but how did know it was an alien in the first place?"

"... Eh. There were a few minor clues, but they could all also be explained as genuine signs of distress." I chew on the thought absently. "First off was the scratch marks that lead the way in the alley."

Percy was paying close attention, I'm proud of how far his focus had come in recent years. Giving him a smile I start.

"How does a single scorpion make _that_ much of a mess? Much of the scuffle marks, scratches and gash marks probably _were_ from the scorpion, but what we passed was a bit _too_ exaggerated." As we meet a more crowded street I manipulate the ambient mist into making the severed needle-arm look like a baseball bat.

"The 'girl' had made many of those marks. She wanted to let people, _us_ , know where she was heading. The knocked over bins and crushed boxes along with the 'natural' mess from the alien wasn't enough. She had to be certain." So any possible 'rescue' wouldn't waste time trying to figure out where she went.

"Of course that could have also been a sincere plea from help from one of our fellows, saying ' _I'm here, this way'_ , but if she has enough strength, or a good enough weapon, to make those marks in brick wall, why couldn't she just have killed the beast already." She scorpions was scary looking sure, but it didn't seem _that_ strong. Get on it's flank and it would be an easy enough kill.

' _But that may just be my perception of strength out of whack.'_

"Second was, _why the fuck would she run down a dark alley by herself stupid_?!" Demigod 101; avoid dark alleys. Actually that's more like a general rule for children no?

" _Yesss_ , it might have been because she hoped the tight space would slow down the alien, or perhaps just dissuade it from following her all together, but if so… _**why**_ _didn't she pick the even_ _ **smaller**_ _alley on the other side of the rode_?! Not ten fukin meters away, goddamn!" Ugh, that was sooo blatant.

' _But monsters are pretty dumb. I shouldn't really be wishing for smarter monsters anyway. I'm just annoyed 'cause I just know there would still be idiots who would fall for it.'_

"... Why you starin' at me like that man?"

"Nothing." At least he's improving. Not to mention he's only twelve... I'm being too harsh. "Nothing, don't worry bout it… anyway, from a monster perspective, quiet secluded places, or places of apathy where no one would help even if you cried out are best. You see someone in need of 'help' rush _straight_ to one such place, alarms go off."

"Hmm, yeah. I feel pretty dumb not seeing that now…" Dammit, I _just_ scolded myself for being to harsh as well.

"You're not dumb." I say firmly, putting my hand on his shoulder. "You ran to someone who, at the time, you thought in need. That's not dumb, that's natural... No, that's heroic." You are a hero Percy.

"... Thanks." We continue to walk, Percy's head a tad higher.

"Anyway, third was I knew from the start anyway." Before the start in fact.

"Knew it. Dream?"

"That too, but also my sensory abilities have improved recently." I boasted proudly. It was something I was pretty happy about.

"... Sensary?" Ah, a bit advance I guess.

"Means I can see things better," and hear and smell, "I could actually partially see through the mist disguise when we saw her running in the first place."

"Oh... _Oooooh_." Percy's eyes widened appropriately.

I smiled at him. Not that he realised fully, but it _was_ quite the achievement after all. That monster's bread and butter was trickery and mist disguise, if not the bait and kill tactic would be completely ineffective.

Mist was what she survived on... and I just completely invalidated it. A dull being but one far older and more experienced than I was _seen through_.

I think that's worth _something_.

"That scorpion was also a doll, well more like a golem I suppose. It had a core, but the flesh was just an incredibly robust and lifelike mist construct." Once more I felt a little giddy at seeing through such a skilled mist user. Percy didn't really get it but looked suitably amazed so I ruffled his hair.

Smirking as his futile attempts to fend of my indomitable brotherly love, I continue.

"Along with that, I could tell she was only faking panic. The stench of lies stuck out like porcupine at a nudist colony. That was big give away." I wait for Percy's snickers to die down.

' _Kids.'_

"But yes, I also dreamt it." A few times in fact. My favourite was the most recent, I got it napping this afternoon; It played out me finding a grey box containing a scorpion guarding a porn magazine. On the front cover it depicted bunny girls, but after I squished the scorpion and took my prize it only contained a frame by frame artist rendition of "2girls1cup."

' _The horror.'_

Of course I had gotten a few other dreams at night depicting the scene in a much more coherent manner, but when I combined it with the dream I got in my midday nap, I was more or less prepared.

Lo and behold, we witnessed a scorpion chasing a pretty "girl" down a dark alley into an boxed in area not even a few hours later.

' _I had a vague idea what was going down.'_

This was pretty normal for me, not sure how it is for other Apollo kids though.

I didn't even need to draw my weapons.

' _... Well one is always 'drawn' I suppose.'_

I looked at the cane that had been ever present by my side for the last year and a half.

' _I won't be caught off guard again.'_

"This one was a goldie huh?" My slight brooding was interrupted.

Percy was looking over the severed arm thing. Indeed it was golden.

"Different from the bronze guys." He blinked. "Hey I've just realised! The ones who carry any bronze tend to be stronger one-on-one but these _goldies_ ," he frowns, "are a lot more tricky…" he smiles, "still weaker than the bronze dudes though."

I blink

' _... Patriotic pride?'_

It's dug into demigod genetics apparently.

Those "bronze dudes" are any monster that carries Celestial Bronze armaments, "goldies" refer to any who carry Imperial Gold.

They are Greek and Roman respectively by the way.

' _The heck.'_

"Hehehehe." Percy's got a pretty sinister smile right now as he stares at the severed limb of his fallen foe. I think I'm a bad influence.

' _... Well whatever.'_

"So do you know what monster the alien was imitating?" Percy asked me.

"No," I shook negative, "It's not like they only choose famous ones… there are tonnes of unnamed monster tales that didn't survive the passage of time. The aliens have been here far longer than us and know a lot more."

"Hmm."

"Let's get back quick. Domi's probably getting tired of waiting."

"Yeah."

We head back, our two figures blurring with the masses of flesh that infested the streets.

Neither of us mentioned it.

We both tacitly neglected to mention the ragged children clothes left behind by the monster. The dirty rags I now carry in backpack. They didn't disappear with the monster.

They didn't belong to the monster. They once belonged to a little girl.

A name was sewn on the inside of the collar, now caked in sweat and grime. A name I recognised from the newspaper. A missing child ad.

We both neglected to mention she would stay missing a while longer.

We both neglected to mention the "sweat and grime" was probably not just that.

We both neglected to mention the glances of suppressed hate we sent the arm.

Because if we did, we wouldn't be able to take another step. We would be unable to move forward. We would be unable to save anyone else.

So we kept a smile. Under this putrid sun, surrounded by slowly rotting flesh and cold stone, we just plastered on a smile and wandered home.

...

' _Well that's how_ _ **I**_ _feel anyway. I doubt Percy is quite so depressing.'_

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AN: Not really how I wanted to end the chapter, but frankly I had put it off long enough.

A whopping 37 pages, 7000ish words, I sincerely apologise for the wait.

To those of you wondering what I've been doing in the meantime since the last post, check out my signature or profile page.

There's probably more than a few typos but bare with me, I'll correct them in time.

I do hope you enjoy the chapter. Once more sorry for the wait.

Leave a review if it pleases you.


	4. Chapter 4: Growing gradually

**AN** : … Err… Hi?

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That day, I was having an internal discussion with myself. Of the many, many manifests of my persona, all but three were either wailing in terror or screaming in panic. There was also the odd hundred or so curled up fetal position sobbing quietly, but they were the minority and thus unimportant.

High in a skyscraper, a penthouse within my mind, there was a table the colour of triangle and smelt of blue. This was the summit. My higher functions, a place of introspection to be observed as a third party.

Sat around the summit today were three beings; Muggle Muck, Sith Spit, and Sir Humphrey. They were the primes of a multifactorial personality in this occasion.

Muggle Muck and Sith Spit opened the 28726458564th Internal Arayan Debate:

 _The voices, tones and accents are left entirely up to imagination, though I would personally recommend an overly posh, middle-aged, male, British, politician's voice for all three._

\- Percy must never know. Never. Never ever. This is serious.

 _Serious you say? What could happen should Perseus find out?_

\- Something very serious. Very serious indeed.

 _I see..._

\- Serious repercussions. Of the utmost seriousness.

 _Well that_ _ **is**_ _serious._

\- In fact, I would go as far to say, that it could hardly be more serious. Seriously.

 _Well I think we all agreed then… this is serious._

\- Yes. Indeed.

The entire mental scene promptly melted into multicoloured honey.

The conclusion of the 28726458564th Internal Arayan Debate was short, swift and to the point. Thus surely proving for certain all was fictional.

For you see(!), upon this bright July day, I happened upon a most terrible secret. A secret of immense power bearing a potential for immense interpersonal repercussions should said secretive-immense-power fall into the wrong hands…

Said hands, I grimly realise, belong to one Perseus Jackson.

Twas a dark and sunny day, the day I began plotting countermeasures against my most beloved bond brother... So sunny yet so dark... It was also a Tuesday, which made everything seven-and-a-half times worse.

The secretive-immense-power was a certain piece of knowledge _._ Secret knowledge, forbidden knowledge. Knowledge I swiftly quarantined to the best of my ability.

Knowledge I obtained from a tome of sorts, a scroll dating back to the precise moment of my birth… my birth certificate.

My Mother (holy be thy name) was conversing with Perseus's mother over birthdays- our joint birthday party to be exact. For whatever reason the Mothers had in their possession our birth certificates.

 _I did not ask why, twas was not my place to question._

Upon comparing the two, a terrible, terrible truth bearing secretive-immense-power of the utmost seriousness came to light...

 _*Sniffle*_

Percy is a few minutes older than me.

 _Fuuuuuck~_

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The making of my magic coins, a process developed over much, _much_ , **much** trial and error, usually started like this...

Within my room of the highrise condo, I sat on my heels looking over the amassed materials spread out before me.

They varied, but the majority of the objects were paper of somesorts. There were leaflets and handouts advertising the NASA museum in Houston, books of poetry, Shakespearean play scripts, music sheets, self made paintings of the sun and stylised sunbursts… well, they all shared (some more closely than others) a common theme.

Apollo; and all associated with the twat.

 _I feel dirty just saying its name._

I looked at them distastefully. Normally I bare none of these things nor what they represent ill will of any kind, I actually kind of like Shakespeare and it is a sin to damage music sheets, but given what I am about to do, I must be in the right mindset.

 **Guh-!**

 _(That was me fight the urge to spit blood at the heresy to music I must commit.)_

With a suppressed grimace I reached for the pile closest to me; a stack of printouts obtained online advertising the Apollo Hotel in London, a place I dimly remember staying at as a child in another life.

Scrunching up the paper in my left hand, my right reaches for another pile; these of newspaper cutouts dedicated to the solar flares recorded lately.

I shuffle around to sit cross legged from my kneeling position and focus intently on the _**fucking fucker**_.

All my hate, disgust, wrath, jealousy, possessiveness and resentment focused on a single, glowing silhouette within my mind. I dare not imagine a face or definitive body to go with it else I fear my rage would get the better of me.

When my right eye starts twitching, molars make audible noise and I feel my fingernails dig into my palm _through_ the paper, I know it's just about enough.

I bring the balls of paper to my mouth and viciously bite down on them, chewing thoroughly like it's the flesh of my most hated enemies. They are gradually dragged into my mouth, futilely wailing and screaming for help as their insides are gorged upon by a ruthless titan of vengeance… (as I imagine it).

 _There may or may not have been tears at the atrocities I was forced to enact… yet another mark against the_ _ **grand cretin**_ _._

I did not swallow. The heretics are refused the pleasure of death though they may dearly wish for it. Even dissolving in my stomach acid would be preferable to the next ten minutes of torture.

I chewed and drooled, allowing the paper to be saturated with my saliva as it is gradually munched into mush.

Involuntarily, some of the xeno(scum) escaped down my throat to the sweet release of my stomach, but I kept the majority within the confines of my teeth.

 _Like a deranged Nurglite._

Slowly the previous two balls merge into a one squishy pulp like ball that I continue to roll about on my tongue, collecting up all the saliva in my mouth till it goes dry.

 _Holy shit that sounded dirty._

This happened fairly quickly, so I always make sure to drink plenty of water a few minutes before hand, however drinking more at this stage would be detrimental to the process.

The clean water lacks the "taint" of me and is not saliva, it would wash away whatever _magic_ (for lack of a better term) I'd managed to imbue in the paper puree with ease.

Spitting out the significantly smaller glob of paper into the palm of my hand, I reach for another object with my other.

It was a block of wood split in two, each piece was 1.5 cm deep, 7cm in width and 9cm in length. About the size of a large playing card. They had been sanded down to a smooth surface.

Each piece had a mould carved in, this was done making extensive use of a wood shaving kit I had stolen some years ago. To get to the detail that was on the wood blocks before me, there had been a lot of trial and error, wasted wood and many a night spent practising.

 _I slept at school._

The current wood was from a palm tree, said to be the tree Leto gave birth to the twins under, and the etching themselves were barely half a cm deep, rather delicate at that.

Previous iterations of the mould were practised on less expensive woods and the shapes deeper, owing to my inexperienced hands.

I placed the glob into one of the moulds; circular, a 5cm diameter, 1cm depth for most of the mould and a further 0.5cm depicting a design.

Pushing the glob into the nooks with my thumbs, I make sure all of it is within the moulds boundary. Once satisfied I place the other block of wood, with a similar mould but different design, over the glob filled mould.

The edges were perfectly aligned so that the moulds were both centred. I had some experience with this by now, thus knew how much paper would fit into the moulds with as little waste as possible.

Now I pressed. The two halves of the block forming a whole once more, the split line seeming disappearing. It was held before my chest in a prayer position.

I closed my eyes and focused.

 **Sunlight** threads were lured in from my window, they transformed into dust and coalesced around my hands as they swirled. The motes of sunlight sunk into the palm wood, giving it a warm yellow glow.

It was now that the transformation happens. With the saliva saturated paper glob being pressed into the right shape, the sunlight-dust will act as a trigger and catalyst for the mixture.

A chemical, or I suppose _alchemical_ reaction.

There are other ways of improving the mixture, a strand of hair, a drop of blood, snake venom or blood, a crushed paracetamol… things related to the giant turd in the sky.

Unfortunately (such an underrated word for the _**AGAHFJKADFHGKLAJDF**_ of my feelings) I myself am included in that umbrella…

 _Being its son and all (probably)._

The best coin I have made to date possessed my blood, hair and baby tooth ground into the paper puree of a sunburst painting I made.

By _best_ , I mean it could be used more than once and predict the movements of stronger monsters. Normally coins like the one I'm making now disintegrate after confirming the general location of a mediocre monster.

If the monster is too strong, or should there be more than one, the coin would disintegrate as soon I even _decide_ to flip it, unable to leave my hands under such mystic pressure.

As my timer beeps the two minute signal, I relax the press, my arms weren't tired yet but pacing was important, I had many more coins to go.

Bringing the block of wood apart I let the new coin drop to the floor, hearing the satisfying metallic ting as it hit the floor.

Lying before me was a coin 5cm wide (diametre) and 3cm thick, bronze in colour it was warm to the touch. There was a depiction of the Caduceus on the tails side and a profile of myself on the heads.

Arrogant it may be, it was better than imagining the _**jkssgsjdfh**_ _,_ I kept destroying the wood, and I only use Ma's face for the special ones.

I brought the coin to my mouth and bit it lightly, tasting the impossible metal on my tongue and feel what _should_ be paper resist my bite.

I nod in satisfaction. Magic bitch.

Setting aside the success I reach for another pile of golden-faeces-related merchandise.

One down, many more to go.

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* * *

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A Shepherd's Sling; my preferred armament. My weapons are of course as self-made as possible, even going as far as to hunt animals myself to provide the leather myself…

 _It didn't work out, but the thought was there._

Names have power, this is a fact of the mystic world, so I named the (semi-self-made) sling series "David."

The current model is David Mk IX. Had this one for a while now, he's been on active duty for almost six months. Previously it seemed like I went through iterations every other week.

The ammunition I use are mainly rocks. Anything _man-made_ can not kill a monster. Using alloys do not work. Pig iron, also known as crude iron can bruise the monsters when shot with incredible force, but just plain rocks seem to be more effective.

There were ideas to soak the rocks in my blood or snake venom, but it was deemed impractical.

Blood dries surprisingly quickly making it less useful in the long run, not to mention the health issues in extracting that quantity of blood, and snake venom is rather expensive without fresh local supply.

After rocks and crude iron, wood is also an alternative although it's too light to be anything more than a distraction.

The main "killing strokes" come from marble and granite spheres and the odd obsidian shard.

Weightier than stone they pack a lot more force behind them, the edge of the obsidian shards are also far more effective than wooden stakes versus the fleshier of my foes.

 _There are also some... "experimental" rocks I'm working on, but that's for later._

The main problem is lugging it all around. It's friggin heavy, I'm literally carrying stones in my backpack. Good for a workout, not so good when you're being run down by a hellhound.

 _Also not at all good for your back._

The solution to this problem…? There ain't one. Nothing that I've found yet. I will keep looking, keep inventing, but sometimes we just have to work with what we get. It's just something I have to live with.

Oh sure, I have caches dotted around my "turf" and all, but they aren't very reliable. I can't use mist to hide them, the prolonged magic would just attract more monsters, but should just leave them, I would find someone had moved them, kicked them over, pissed on them or _worse_.

I dunno how an innocent and inconspicuous pile of rocks could instigate such a reaction from the world and people around them, but they do.

This makes relying on moving to certain caches, banking on them having extra ammo to fight with, rather dangerous.

 _Misinformation kills._

As a result of all this, I have developed a very careful approach to long ranged fighting. You could even say I am more cautious fighting at a distance then I am in close quarters.

You would be right.

Up close and personal my ADHD, my "fighting instinct" (though less pronounced than Percy's), does its job and does it well.

From afar I must think, I must aim, I must conserve, I must plan.

It was the natural course of things, with me preserving ammo, being constantly conscious of my placing and cover (etc.), that I would come to see fighting monsters as _Hunting_.

Perchance, perhaps, possibly, at the particular emphasis I have placed upon the Intransitive verb, one _may_ make the assumption as to presume where this topic is presently headed...

 _Translation: You know where this is going._

I had grown tired of merely _reacting_ ; always being on the back foot, lacking initiative, fighting on a field not of my choice. Waiting has its place and time, and patience is a virtue, but passivity is something I have grown to detest over the years.

Not just in combat but in survival, in _prospering_. In the safety of my mother, my brother and my friend, I could not allow myself to remain inactive.

It was _because_ I went out to that beachfront to paint in search of a better future, in search of money, that we have central heating and plentiful food today; I got ahead.

 _Good things come to those who wait first in line after all._

Perched on a slanted roof of a three floor, rather quaint, house in the suburbs, I had a decent view of the proceedings occurring in the street below and the "killzone" at the bottom.

Twas the dead of night, the waning moon was high and the air was humid. I was some ways off from my usual turf, but this particular prey was the worst type, the most irritating type, _the one who got away_.

Very annoying. I sought to rectify the

It was a combination of coin divination, map and coin divination, water-rod divination, common sense, the internet and a rather useful dream from a month ago that had brought me this far.

My fleeing quarry was slippery and fast, hard to get a grip on even with the aforementioned methods. Had it been alone, I fear there would be no way for me to get it, but fortunately(?) it had joined up with others of its kind.

This monster's name was unknown to me; at first glance their gait and tendency to stick to the shadows gave me a feline impression, but they were in fact vaguely canine with a streamlined body. In the light (which they tried to avoid) they looked like starved coyotes.

I refer to them as the _Ungrateful Strays_ for the time being.

The pack Percy and I cornered, trapped and slaughtered prior had been hanging around our school, this new pack seemed to be headed in the direction of another school local to the area also.

It was worth noting this new pack was significantly smaller and made up of skinnier coyotes than the other one, hence I didn't bother calling Perce.

 _Growing boys need their sleep._

The coyotes had entered the school. Smart enough to not break any windows or doors when doing so at that, but fortunately that was as far as their intelligence was willing to stretch.

In the previous encounter, the monsters had proven to be pragmatic urban creatures, but not without their quirks. They prefer ambush, sneaking and stalking their prey, like a feline monster, hiding and waiting in the basement or rafters, like an arachnid monster, but will attack en-masse, like canines.

They are also weakened inside buildings. Strange when one considers their preferred methods and terrain, but then I started to wonder if they were from a different pantheon.

Or rather **Court**. Like the Faerie Court. There are many legends of fae being unable to enter or cross the threshold without permission after all. Perhaps these are fae folk native to america? Part of the indigenous peoples pantheon?

… Well, it doesn't matter too much. They are still a danger, not to mention targeting children. I protect children, this is my duty. The sole reason I had yet to act was due to the dream relating implied there would be a third party interfering.

 _I had no desire to be caught off guard, but enough was enough. It was only a few hours till daybreak. I would wait no longer-_

Predictably, the interlopers chose that exact moment to appear.

A small figure clad in silver vaulted over the wire-mesh fence of the school playground and _glided_ into the shadows of the main building opposite, all seemingly in a single breath.

I only blinked, and at an unseen single, half a dozen or so more silver glad figures arched over the fence and drifted over to their scout.

 _Well now..._

Lifting my binoculars to eye-level, I mentally mapped out the situation once more.

 _Myself_ ; situated at one end of a residential street, perched atop a tiled roof. _The school_ ; facing me at the other end of the street, placed at a T-junction, jumping the school gates or low brick wall are easiest methods of entering.

 _Ungrateful Strays_ ; slipped between gate bars, circling the main building in a clockwise direction. Currently on the left side of the building, about to disappear 'round the back. Interlopers; entered from the playground on the right side of the building, circling the building in an aniti-clockwise direction.

 _Probable conclusion?_

The Strays and interlopers will continue their way around the building, thus meet and fight on the far side of the school main building… completely out of my view.

 _Bugger._

I lowered the binoculars, staring hard at the school with a frown etching my face.

The interl- _ah fuck it_ \- the friggin **Hunters of Artemis** , for who else could it be, had stolen my hunt.

"Jävla död stjäl." I muttered in Swedish giving the learning institute the stink eye.

 _Only one thing to do now I guess…_

I packed up went home.

"Ugh. What a waste." I heaved a sigh.

The small impulsive part of me I kept locked away wished nothing more than to hop over and introduce myself to my aunts minions, or at least spy on the fighting, but the rational part of me stomped it out.

There are _far_ too many variables to deal with in than situation, assuming the feminists don't shoot me on sight by dint of having a sausage, I'm just not prepared to meet a divine yet.

But most importantly, I may implicate Percy. Should Arty take _any_ sort of interest in me, she would no doubt stumble upon Perce. This by and in itself is unacceptable. I would not endanger my brother like that.

' _Till there's no other choice.'_ A bitter part of me whispered.

I ignored it with the practised ease of a sinner and turned my thoughts to more materialistic woes.

 _They had decent drops too..._

Lamenting over not being able to kill something for it remains was becoming uncomfortable natural.

Perhaps it was a trick of the mind, the call of the wind, but I could almost hear the distant whisper of blade sinking joyously into its prey.

" _Good hunting ladies._ " I whispered back.

Thus came the anti-climatic end another nightly excursion for Arayan Ishraq.

.

* * *

Play - _Of Monsters And Men - Thousand Eyes (Official Lyric Video)_

.

' _Wasn't much of an incident this trip,'_ I mused to myself whilst hopping from roof to fence and fence to ground. ' _The dream fulfilled, and loose ends tied, even if it wasn't done personally.'_

I didn't get to fight, not did I get the drops from the dogos, but I also didn't waste any ammunition, tire myself out or get hurt…

Though I would always take the chance for more experience even if it meant a few cuts and bruises, a possible encounter with the Hunters could have ended far, **far** worse.

 _And yet I feel I'm missing something._

Straightening out my hoodie as I stood under lamp light, my forehead creases in thought. The frown from before had yet to fully leave its place, and I didn't have the heart to evict it.

Absently fumbling a coin in my pocket, my frown became a scowl.

Its **my** power. I designed it and refined it and continue to improve on it. The coins are a medium of **my** power. It was an original concept, I did not steal it nor have I copied anyone. Its **mine**.

Alas, I am still hesitant I do not want it to become a crutch, to become over reliant. I do not wish for my coins to become the source of a bad habit, but most of all…

 _ **My**_ _power it may be, it still comes from_ _ **him**_ _._

...

I take a slow breath to stop myself heaving. No use getting worked up about it. No matter how foul tasting it is in my mouth.

 _The sun's not even up yet._

My fist unclenched with the coin now between my thumb and forefinger. I rub the designs carelessly.

 _Heads; there is something I have forgotten._

The metallic _ping_ echoes far louder than it should have throughout the empty street. A street light flickers briefly as flies buzz about it.

The coin lands on my palm and I slap into onto the back of my other hand with a meaty _thwack_.

… _Heads._

Yet there is absolutely no degradation to the coin itself… I can't help but sigh.

This always happens when I try to divine something concerning myself; **nothing**. I can never know if it truly worked, or it was just luck, or if that "luck" was the divination itself...

 _Fine. Whatever._

I close my eyes and throw myself back.

 _Gods, what I wouldn't do for a Pensieve right now._

The dream, unlike most, was rather literal. Instead of abstract images open for interpretation, there was somewhat smokey cut scenes played at a cinema,

 _Shadows of varying sizes slinked through alleyways in groups. They roamed and rummage through garbage._

 _Somewhere, someone made the wrong decision of inviting a small shadow into their abode. More shadows smashed and poured in through the windows. The human figure went down in the pile._

The past.

 _Shadows lurking around familiar surroundings. Rooftops. A public toilet. My school._

The (then) present.

 _Another school. Scene shown from a bird's eye perspective. Shadows circle the building like feline sharks. I see myself move towards it. However the left half of the scene suddenly blurs. A change, an interloper._

The (then) future.

 _And (now) the past._

It was a simple and straightforward prophetic dream, quite refreshing, but I have a growing sense of unease.

A level one, two at best. Even now I recall it vividly, save the single death in shown in the past, there was no foretold deaths at all, which is rather memorable in itself actually.

 _But there's got to be something more?_

I blink back the metaphysical stars as another memory hits me.

The _unease_ is gradually becoming _minor dread_. A sudden reveal of selective amnesia is **never** a good sign.

I had awoken with a start. That night, that dream, I had awoken with a start. I sat bolt upright. My chest was thumping. Yet I was not sweating. I had not cried out. There was no tears.

 _ **Why?**_

What have I forgotten, it wasn't the dream, no it was the dream, but it was unexpected, it was not sustained terror, it was a jump scare. What scared me? Why did I forget? _Why the fuck am I hyperventilating?!_

"Aghht-" I spat. Globs of my phlegm hit the pavement as I hunched over, hacking up more and more of the mucus from the back of my throat.

' _... What is happening?!'_

My spit pooled on the concrete below as my breathing steadied, but some had dribbled down my chin. I paid it no heed, still furiously flinging myself at the gaps in my memory.

 _Yes, there was a "jump scare". Something unexpected and something that scared the shit out of me in the span a split-second._ _ **What?**_

A street lights across the road cast contrasting shadows as it flickered, but I paid it no heed. My hands were fixed on my knees, my gaze penetrating the earth below with sightless intensity.

 _The end was different from the rest of the dream, but it was no scene, nor sudden flashing image-_

 _ **Image.**_

It was no image. The scenes ended, the cinema format dissolved. There was a murky darkness, the same I always get just moments before awakening.

The failing light of the street lamp across the road had spread to its neighbours, yet I paid it no heed.

 _Another sensation then. Touch? Was it pain?_

There had been occasions when I felt the phantom pain reflected by the vision I saw. A stab, heat, cold, etc. Then there was the more abstract feelings. The sense of falling, the sensation of fading, the enclosing darkness, etc.

 _But no. Not this time. It was no notion of touch._

Lights continued to flicker and die, but I paid it no heed.

 _Scent? Was it smell?_

The smell of **rot** and honey and **blood** and flowers and **guts** and pizza and **rust** and grass and **meat** -

 _\- No. It was no notion of smell._

Was it getting colder?

 _Taste? Was it flavour?_

I froze. The metal taste of iron and copper fills my mouth and overflows my lips and dribbles down my-

 _\- No. It was no notion of taste._

I shudder, half from the cold, half from the memories, alone in a darkening street.

It was not "sight", nor "touch", nor "smell", nor "taste".

Yes, of course, how could I even forget in the first place. _It was s-_

A bout of vertigo hit me.

 _It was s-_

I straightened to clear my head

 _It was so-_

Only to freeze again at the street before me.

 _It was so-_

It had disappeared into darkness, the moon was caged within clouds.

 _It was sou-_

It was cold too; cold enough to shiver, cold enough to shudder, cold enough to shake.

It was sou-

The sole light in the world around me came from the lamp above my head, the only sound came from my shaky breath.

It was soun-

Flies were gone, birds were gone, people were gone, the only proof of life my own.

 _It was soun-_

My vision swam, I was so alone, come back, come back, come back, come backcomebackcomeb-

 _A light came back._

My thoughts ceased.

Under a dim lamp some ways down the street there were three lumpy shadows.

 _I-It wa-_

Nay, not shadows, figures. Three hunched figures, cloaked and hidden.

 _It w-was-_

They turned to me. Hair, thinning and silver, skin, worn and aged, eyes, muddied and old.

 _It was s-s-_

Yarn, string and jute pooled around them. The flickering light cast haunting shadows over their hands and faces.

 _It was so-_

They looked at me. Under dim lighting.

' _It was sound.'_

 ***Snip***

And said sound was my entire world in that moment. It was a sound that echoed within my soul. It was a terrifying sound. A deciding sound. A final sound.

A sound that turned my world back.

...

When I came to, the lights had returned and there was a faint glow to the east over the rooftops. I was upright, but only barely. My legs were frozen stiff, and my upper body trembled.

I didn't think I didn't speak, I only walked, my gait awkward and lopsided. As soon as I could bend my knees again I was jogging, as soon as I could feel my toes again I was running, as soon as the first rays of sunlight hit me I was sprinting.

My journey was a blur, I must have passed a few early risers but I can't remember at all. The only thing that mattered was shutting and locking the door behind me, the door that would protect me from the outside world.

My back hit the door and I slid down it. My breath came out in harsh pants, who knew how long I was running, as I hid my head between my knees.

Sweat, tears or was it dribble hit the floorboards beneath me.

Finally I gulped, throat dry, and spoke, voice hoarse. " _Well fuck you too ya h-hobos.._ "

Somehow. I think my bravado sounded rather forced.

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

 **AN** : I doubt you want my life-story so I'll keep the excuse short: College. My Final Major Project in fact (yeah look at those caps yo). It went well, got distinction (seriously didn;t expect that as I was rather ill throughout the whole thing) but yey!

The time consuming stuff came after that. I had an exhibition to plan and CV to write and job experience to plan and _more work to do!_ Like wtf, I got my exam results leave me alone y'know? Whyyyyy?

Well whatever. That's over now and it is the summer holidays (fuck yeah!) so I'll be getting back to writing now (yey?). Look forward to more.

Dunno what to feel about the chapter really. Much of it was written in snippets over the course of my FMP, all done in different states of mind and differing levels of consciousness.

To finish this chapter half of it was just editing and linking disjointed paragraphs and such.

So I don't know how this flows or _if_ it flows or whatever.

My first attempt at writing something scary as well, probably failed completely, but eh. Practise.

Do tell be what you think, the feedback will help me get back into the groove (hopefully).

But to all of you reading, _thank you_ , thank you and **thank you**.

Seriously.

I'll see you y'all next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5: Early arrival

~ **AI** ~

Discrimination is necessary.

In this modern age, an era of information, most of us recognise this, peripherally at the very least. However, recent events have led me to reiterate the fact once more.

As a way of self-reflection. A method of introspection. To understand the turbulent feelings within only barely held at bay...

I was scared. It's a nostalgic feeling.

Indeed, one of the first thoughts of mine upon greeting the emotion was; "It's been a while."

It was a genuine knee-jerk thought. I surprised myself. That was pretty cool of me. It was a line that belonged to a shounen MC.

It does not change the fact that I was scared however.

Why was I scared?

That's a rather difficult question to answer I suppose.

~ **PJ** ~

Dads come and go dime a dozen it would seem.

The word "dad" or "father" and the meaning behind it, to me, is rather fluid. By fluid, I mean adaptable.

I have used the term as a tool to leverage hope, daydream of a mysterious figure returning from sea to save mother and I, and other times as an outlet for repressed rage, the first being I could truly curse with all my heart.

There were times in my life when the word held less weight than a rotting fish carcase, and times when I have outright prayed to it. My feelings associated with the word can be described as troubled at best.

Stormy, or thunderous if you want a more honest answer.

I have, over the course of some short twelve years, experienced three measures of _dad-ness_.

The first two I don't talk about, and the third… well. It's a strange situation.

Some kids find a friend, perhaps even a best friend in their dad.

I have a best friend who's like a dad.

And he's currently giving a giraffe a death-glare.

"Arayan..." Others would be leery starting a conversation with the crazy guy giving a giraffe a death-glare, but my tone was uncharacteristically dry. Weird things like this were hardly abnormal. In fact this was only in the top five… this week… and it's Tuesday. Still, I was curious as to why my best friend was giving a giraffe a death-glare. "Why are you giving a giraffe a death-glare?"

"... It was eyeing my falafels." He eventually grunted back, still locking eyes with the spotty animal, "It wanted it. _I disagreed._ " Please don't grin like that, your face gets all twitchy. "I ate the falafels… _slowly_." Seriously, the staff are looking. "The giraffe has not moved since. I think it was in shock, but now it challenges my honour." Whut? "We have thus entered most honourable combat." A staring contest. "I have yet to emerge victorious, this foe proves more worthy than I thought, but I assure you, _I will fight till triumphant, or I will fight forever._ " He concludes solemnly with resolute fervour.

I gave him a look. _The_ look. A look that speaks of withered oceans, ancient temples, the surface of Mars and burnt toast.

It was rather dry.

I whacked him in the face with a rolled up guide pamphlet.

He spluttered. The giraffe snorted. I rolled my eyes.

~ **AI** ~

Why was I scared?

The short answer was because I was superior to pretty much everyone around me.

… That's rather lacking in context however, so allow me to tell you the long, convoluted, narcissistic, cynical, pessimistic train of thought that brought me to such a conclusion.

One night, a full 24 hours after a rather thrilling run-in with the Greek personifications of fate, high up within the nape of a steel tower, I looked out the window and felt fear.

I observed the passing nightlife below with dull golden eyes. I watched as they buzzed about, in and out of concrete huts, running along grooves, stopped and started by order of coloured lights.

So many people, cultures, religions and schools of thought brushing shoulders and honking horns, this should be momentous, a festival to be celebrated, a sight displaying the variety of human magnificence!

Yet it was just another night. Full of neon lights like fireflies, so very, very insignificant.

So much life, and not a single sound reached me in my tower.

They were, all of a sudden, incomprehensible to me.

It felt like the height between myself and the ground abruptly _yawned_. A great maw of space opened between myself and all those people below. A toothless, invisible mouth that would stop me ever joining them, the height became a chasm.

They were aliens.

I felt alone. I felt fear.

~ **PJ** ~

"The beast should be put down, executed at once! Daring to question the absolute sovereignty of humans, the superior beast, such Insolence!" I listened to the guy who, when faced with a nest of eldritch looking four-foot tall Hydras spitting acid at him only response was a dry ' _this is so Thursday'_ rant about executing a giraffe.

And really, _insolence_ , who even says that?

Unfortunately this cringy behaviour has been quite common lately. As a person of close association, I do wish it would stop already.

His vocabulary is affecting mine after all. Percy Jackson, sound of mind, saying such things like _association_ , and describing things with _rather_ , and saying _quite_ instead of yes, is positively preposterous.

Next thing you know...

" _I dare say Reginald, I do believe that woman just flashed her ankles!"_ or " _Georgie, we are fresh out of napkins."_ and gods forbid " _Sir, your southern necessities are slipping, I beg you pull them up, this is highly improper."_

Worst of all, I'd say them in a British accent. Oh, how mother would weep for me. Her only son, corrupted by that dastardly fellow to realms of foreign gentlemanliness.

No! Stop! Stop I say! It's too much!

…

 _Ughhhhh._

What the fuck me.

Arayan whacked me up the head.

"Don't swear." Fuck you. Whack. This is you fucking fault. Whack. Now I must fucking swear all the fucking time to regain my innate fucking Americanness. Whack, whack, whack.

"Don't you know any other swear words than fuck?"

I looked at him, rubbing my head with a frown. "How the fuckidy fuck did you know I was only saying fuck?" I swear I was speaking in my mind.

Whack, whack, whack.

He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitantly closes it. "Well…" he hedges.

I frown. He doesn't say it but his eyes talk.

' _You_ _ **are**_ _American.'_

Fuck you, you are too. And I heard that silent _only_ bitch.

Whack… whack.

I huff through my nose.

~ **AI** ~

I did not understand them. They did not understand me. My world and their world were incompatible.

Our world, our _reality_ , is determined by our focus. What was mine? My focus was on the gods, the demons, the monsters, the heroes and on my family.

Theirs was not. Thus they were of little interest.

I saw a great disparity between myself and those neon lit dots below.

That is good. Disparity is good. It helps us distinguish.

All are born equal, but some more equal than others, and some strive to make that gap bigger.

 _I am not equal to them. I am above them._

For a time, I felt kingly, I _made_ myself feel kingly, because it was unbearable otherwise. I dressed nice and comfortable, lorded around the empty condo, practising ridiculous laughs, prancing and swaggering like a fool.

It was through self-mocking and arrogance that I brought levity to the situation. And it worked. For a time. A day, one full turd cycle.

I talked to no one, avoided Percy and Domi like the plague then glared down everyone else who "had the nerve to enter my sight." My attempts were laughable, but that only goes to show how far humans will go to run away.

Alas, eventually, It wore thin. Even my well rehearsed coping mechanisms have their limits.

One dusk, when the turd seemed to lazily hang and rest half in, half out of the horizon, something was plucked and a taut string snapped by the sound of an off-tune violin.

I think it was the beauty of the sunset.

Despite my hate for the turd, I'm rather fond of the sun. The view of it coming to rest and roost to the West, in the Hesperidean gardens, most of all.

I know that's not how it works, I'm no flat-earther, but there is something soothing about it all the same.

I sunk to my knees that evening, and cried.

There was nothing dramatic about it, I did not sob or wail, I merely hung my head and cried. Letting the tears freely flow, dripping to the floor with a soft pitter-patter.

It was a long time in the making, I think.

I cried as the sun slowly vanished, shining its last hazy rays. I cried openly under dim lighting. Drip, drip, drip, sitting on my heels in the living room, I let my mask dribble down my face.

That was how mother found me.

~ **PJ** ~

I remember, a week ago from today, when Arayan walked up to me with bloodshot red and puffy eyes.

It was a shock, like lightning in clear skies.

He didn't say anything, just grabbed my wrist and started to walk.

I very aggrieved you know? Not a word of greeting and he pulls this embarrassing stunt in public, we're not kids y'know, we're adult 12-year-olds y'know, we're badass alien combating soldiers of humanity _y'knowww?_

We weren't holding hands, but it's the closest we've come in years… or at least six months.

But, well, I let him. 'Cause I'm kind like that.

I am full benevolence and incandescent gentleness, my eyes limpid and tender in their gaze, I could sooth all the worlds evil with but a single touch, but even then my goodwill took a hit to its hull at his next move.

He very deliberately placed me to his left and was still gripping my wrist despite us moving at pace.

The nerve of him.

 _His left_ , slightly behind his shoulder, the best place where he can cover me from. The easiest place to push, pull, shove, or shield me from an attack. The best positioning to protect me.

To coddle me.

I'm not a kid anymore. This was stupid, this was demeaning, but I sucked up my complaints anyway.

I couldn't see his eyes, but I could _feel_ the intensity with which he scanned the roofs, streets and windows. There were occasional flinches from those unfortunate enough to meet his eyes.

He has a mean glare on the best of days, but a bloodshot and baggy one?

 _Nah. GG bro._

I filed a complaint to Arayan HQ later of course, when he was in a better frame of mind, but for that moment, I very reluctantly allowed the affront to my dignity continue.

It was only because I could sense the seriousness of the situation okay? Only because I'm the bigger man okay? Only 'cause I'm so friggin kind okay?

It wasn't that I was super enjoying it or anything okay?

Even though I have no qualms at being handheld, in fact I rather welcome it, but we _were_ in public. I'm the first-mate not some tottering cabin-boy, I have an image to uphold aye?

But if I said that, he might have stopped holding my wrist- not that that's _important_ or anything- it's just that being on a slightly busy sidewalk, walking side-by-side would be inconvenient for those around us, taking up space and all, so I didn't say it.

That's it okay?

It totally wasn't that I was enjoying being led around like old times, or that I was having difficulties fighting down the waterworks at being sheltered once more…

It's wasn't okay?

It was just me. being a big man, and sucking it up for the sake of others.

I would let it be, so not to inconvenience those around us and let Arayan tell me in his own time.

Until I fished out the reasoning, I would let it be. Yes.

… And should I enjoy the process just a tiny-weeny bit… then so be it.

 _That's it okay?_

~ **AI** ~

I told my ma everything and nothing it seems.

I told her what was happening without describing the situation in the slightest. I told her my feelings so completely and utterly without hinting at what caused it even once

I was dimly impressed with myself.

You know, I'm not even sure if I ever _actually_ worded what was going on, or just expected ma to somehow psychically know.

Though looking back at the ease with which she handled the entire mess, she very well may have some form of psychic-mother power. She knew exactly what to say, when to hug and when to stop as I poured a lifetime of accumulated, muddy woes at her.

And they really were muddy.

They came out slow and wet, oozing out my mouth, making me sick and suffocated at times.

At some point, who knows when, we ended up on the sofa. I had my head in her lap, my body half curled, and she ran her fingers through my hair but was otherwise quiet.

My eyes were long since red and hot, ma brought me a cold towel to press on them. In that cooled darkness, I continued to talk, pushing forward with mindless determination.

I was exhausted, my throat sore and I just wanted to sleep, but I _needed_ to talk.

"We…" I gulped drily. "We all want to connect…" I was trying to explain my philosophy. "To understand and be understood." A thing no normal twelve-year-old should have, let alone comprehend.

Would she look at me differently when this was over I wondered.

"But that's not always possible." I talked anyway.

~ **PJ** ~

My best friend let out a slight grunt as my other best friend impacted his chest with force.

 _Fu fu fu._ Quick on the uptake as ever. Not even a moment's hesitation. She took one look at Arayan, his puffy eyes, his lack of cane, his messy hair, the grip on my wrist, and came flying.

As expected of our second-mate, fearsome indeed. I must guard my position as first-mate well, what with all these up and coming newcomers.

Domi being the only newcomer. Newcomer only due to joining the group last… which was years ago.

Not to mention we're only a group a three anyway.

 _Ahem._

With a _poof_ she went all _mofu-mofu_ on him, nuzzling the soft cotton he wore.

Mmm, even though he was without his signature pimp-cane, he still wore his trademark oversized hoodie. It was decent weather that day, neither too hot nor too cold, but he's _really_ dedicated to his style.

I've seen him wear those hoodies during sweltering hot summers. I mean, it's not as if he's not hot, he wears shorts and rolls up the sleeves, but why though?

"Habit" is no reasonable excuse.

 _Anyway._

After Domi joined the party, we continued our quest to our usual hideout.

Said hideout being a rooftop shack. What was once an open air cafe/bar with a great view. Now it was an urban ruin of sorts, boxed in by slightly higher apartment blocks it has a hidden, secretive vibe to it.

We had tents, blankets, food and ammunition stocked up there. A child's dream made adult.

It _was_ sorta squatting, but eh. Even our mothers use the place from time to time, for drinking and girls-night-out stuff.

It's hardly the worst we've done anyway, not when you have aliens impersonating mythological monsters breathing down your neck. Some harmless "repurposing" would just slip through the cracks.

A drop in the river of criminal charges as it were.

 _Mainly arson._

Arayan seemed a little better once Domi joined, it's hard to keep a serious front when you have a ball of white fluff flopping around below your chin.

 _Is this what you call charisma break?_

With myself to the left and Domi practically hanging of the right arm, we took up enough space on the sidewalk, rendering previous excuses invalid, but I conveniently ignored that.

People were no longer flinching at Arayan's gaze, but sorta went "aww" at the sight of someone who had clearly been crying being comforted. _Then_ they flinched.

Arayan doesn't like being pitied.

But I took it as a win.

We would get our answers soon enough anyway.

~ **AI** ~

We all want to connect. To understand and be understood.

But that is not always possible. We are all born different, yet equal, with some being more equal than others. These differences breed disparity. Disparity breeds discrimination.

However that discrimination is necessary. We must distinguish and discriminate to show love.

To treat a stranger with the same kindness as your own family, would that not mean your family are no better than strangers?

We must withhold kindness, treasure it and guard it, so we may give it to another more important in order to display our feelings. There are times when we give freely, that is called charity, but that is often impersonal and structured.

On a personal level, when you look the other in the eye, we consciously choose who to connect to. Because we can't afford to be free with our affections, for that cheapens it.

Separating. Sifting. Straining.

This process of choosing, this pressure, is discrimination.

"At least in my eyes," I clarified. "It's necessary, it's necessary but…"

I fear disparity. I fear what it leads to. I fear how it makes me feel. It makes me feel lonely. It makes me shiver and shake.

We are all alone in some way, but being alone and being lonely are two different things. To be singled out in a crowd is not scary, not for me, not anymore.

At least I would be somewhat a part of the crowd.

 _I've_ _ **died**_ _, simple isolation just doesn't cut it. -_ I didn't voice that bit.

It's the chilling, creeping, crawling sense of being completely unnecessary- of being unloved and unwanted that gets me.

Of being so above, so below, that it doesn't even matter. That I don't matter. That I never mattered. That I am unnecessary.

Of never being in the crowd in the first place.

These things, negative emotions and notions, are like wet, cold mud that slither down my spine and clog up my throat.

I had been bearing those feelings within all my life. Ever since I was three and I woke up to hear you crying. Ever since I was conscious enough to understand.

 _Ma jerked a bit at that, but never stopped running her fingers through my hair._

All that mud broke free today. The dam fell and out slid the muck.

Out came a child's philosophy (fear).

I fear disparity. Because I know that it is necessary. I know someone must take the hit. I know that for two to be together, one must be alone.

But I don't fear being alone. At least that _one_ was necessary for the _two,_ If the one were lucky, perhaps they might even be remembered.

I fear not being a part of the equation altogether. I fear being the fourth looking in. I fear being relegated to the position of _observer_.

Being alone- being discriminated against _as a human_ \- being the "one" sacrifice for the "two". I do not mind.

Being lonely, trapped in space- beneath/above the notice of humans- being the "fourth" unseen by the "three". I could not bare.

Humans discriminate against each other for many reasons.

"We know that well." Memories hung heavy.

But why would humans discriminate against an _alien_ they don't know?

 _That was the crux of it. The sense of alienation I feel._

"So there. That's it." Tired. "That's the best way I could word it." So tired. "You asked me what was wrong…" Let me sleep. "So there."

I was finished. Mentally and physically exhausted. But I had one last thing to ask.

"Do you think me abnormal now?" I wore a crooked smile.

She slapped it off.

~ **PJ** ~

The rooftop-shack. I reminisced. Many things have happened there.

It was there, one summer day, that Arayan explained to me why we must fight. Of the so called "aliens".

 _Pah_. As if. But my best friend rarely lies without reason, in fact I cannot recall a time where he would resort to fibbing unless absolutely necessary. In fact, he would rather resort to violence- knocking someone out, breaking legs, blatant blackmail- rather than lie.

… _Though that may just be personal preference anyway..._

Still, it wasn't like he expected me to believe he was telling the truth, just believe his lies. His first line _was_ "for now, believe my lies" afterall.

So I let it slide. I'm a big man with a big heart. My endless kindness deep as the sea, my grace wider than the oceans. Forever on the verge of ascending, but choosing to remain within the mortal planes to guide those pitiful lost sheep. I am a modern Buddha. Go me.

Anyway: rooftop-shack.

It was slightly windy, but the once private tiki-bar thing shielded us nicely. Having grown used to it, the wind is more of a pleasant breeze than any inconvenience honestly.

Especially under the summer afternoon New York sun. Like jeepers, It's friggin hot dude.

Especially bad for Domi with her compulsory skintight thermal second-skin. She wears it to help with the unfortunate skin conditions that come with being albino. It's not bad in the winter, it can be a bit muggy in the spring and autumn, but her summers are things to be endured, rarely enjoyed.

Today too, she wore a sporty black "swimsuit" make that came down her wrists and ankles, under a loose t-shirt and long shorts combo.

She was especially warm snuggled up to Arayan's chest, going to town on his hoodie with her face.

I was warm too. I had a portable heater.

 _I wasn't jealous or anything okay?_

I decided to break the silence by throwing out some bait.

"You look like shit Yan." A whole bucket load of chum.

He grunted.

It continued like that for a good five minutes, I won't bore you with the dialogue.

Me talk. He grunts. Repeat.

Even Domi's hugs started to lose vigour.

Eventually… "Fucking- C'mon Yan, I'm breaking my back trying to carry this. Just…" Screw baiting him. "What the heck happened you damn glob of snot?!"

There was no grunt. Only silence and a slight frown. Not even a comment on snot or swearing.

I got fed up.

Feeling slightly disgusted, or rather disappointed at having to talk to a wall when I wanted to speak with my friend, I threw up my hands. "Fine. If you don't want to talk. Fine. But you don't have to ignore me."

I got up to leave. Though my temper is not nearly as bad as it used to be, my precious friends can all too easily become the source of old habits flaring up in the form of turbulent storms.

 _My tantrums were legendary back in the day._

"-No wait." I waited. "Sorry… it's not that I won't talk… I'm just a bit tired."

I sat back down. The storm dissipated.

His voice was hoarse as you would expect given his appearance, but I've never heard it so weak.

" _Fuuuuuuu~_ " He let out a long sigh, head tilted back, legs stretched out in front.

He pulled Domi into a one armed hug, the first time he reciprocated her actions since we got here. Domi squirmed happily. I swear, she's less of a third-mate and more like a neophyte of the Arayanian cult (name pending) with the way she acts.

… _Foreshadowing..._

Then he looked at his other arm and frowned. He made waving motions and grabby hands, as if trying to figure out what was wrong.

Then he looked at me with blank realisation.

"No." I said no. "Nooo." I said it some more. "Nope." I expressed my most profound disagreement to what I suspect he might suggest.

He waved me over. I went over.

 _\- But I didn't hug him!_

He hugged me.

There's a difference.

I ignored Domi's giggling.

"Fu." Yan let out a small… snort? Huff? A sound of contentment. His legs stretched out further, I felt his body sag slightly. There was a rare, small smile on his face. Not a grin, or smirk like usual, but something soft and satisfied.

"Where to start..." He pondered aloud. "Well… when I was three…"

I, _we_ , listened to our best friend's story attentively.

A feeling welled up within my chest, and within my eyes.

 **~AI~**

There's a lot of things I don't remember, it's all a bit of a blur, but she had a lot to say indeed.

Starting with my stupidity and ending in my idiocy, she really ripped me a new one. Like, no mercy bro. I think half the reason I don't remember what she said was just due to me going into shock.

 _K.O._

She went to slap me multiple times, but in the end just ended up stroking my cheek, or falling into another shaking hug.

Where did we get the energy from I wonder. I was about to black out from exhaustion just a moment ago, but seeing the person I respected most in my life acting so… _humanly_ _ **frail**_ _,_ pulled on reserves from places unknown.

It lit a raging self-hating fire.

In retrospect, a good cry was a long time coming for ma too. She who has dedicated her life to me, it was trying for her to say the least, even after I started bringing in the money.

To call it merely difficult would be an insult of the highest order.

I've worried her greatly. I've wronged her by just being _me_ , being _me_ and not the child she should have had. I'm an abnormality, an alien impersonating her child.

It only made me more frantically guilty when she addressed each point I thought and never voiced.

She said she knew I was different, but didn't care. That only crushed me further, because she would never, _never_ realise just how _different_ I was.

"You're special." She said, half sobbing, each shudder a stab to my heart. "Don't hate it." She whispered. "You're a star." She clutched me tighter.

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." She looked me in the eyes. "You're _my_ star."

I couldn't help but bury my face in her shoulder.

"I'm _always_ looking at you, you silly boy." Her words were like light shining down. "I'm your mother." Words from above.

In just a couple of sentences she tore down, ripped up and spat out my insecurities…

 _Honestly._

Is it any wonder I love her as much as I do?

She who was so large and bright and warm in my eyes. She who had toiled to provide for me. She who I had watched helplessly, she who I could only sing for.

She who made me feel rather insignificant in comparison.

I do wonder how much of that angst breakdown was fuelled by my inferiority complex, but I couldn't help it.

All those years ago, It was a perplexing state of ruin she found herself in.

An abandoned lover of a god, bereft of family, adrift her country, lacking in funds and burdened by a newborn babe.

She held me in her lap, cradling me tightly to her chest, her face to my head. I clutched her back, body curled and weak.

We rocked back and forth gently.

As our tears gradually stemmed and shaking subsided, I shuffled slightly so my chin was resting on her shoulder.

I looked at the ceiling. It was nice. No holes. No dangling light bulbs. No stains. No exposed wires. No discoloured paint. No bugs. No damp patches. No…

When I think of my childhood, I think of rain, chilly nights and the silent glares of derision.

Now, Now…

The room was secure and safe. We were high up, nobody could see us. We had each other to stay warm.

"... We've come quite some way huh…"

She hugged me slightly tighter. This time the exhaustion was to heavy to stave off.

Well... the living room was warm enough to fall asleep in anyway.

…

 **~PJ~**

"You alright?" I blinked, then looked to who asked the question. Yan was staring at me through the corner of his eye. His full attention on me.

I smiled "Yeah… just a trip down memory lane."

He looked away with a grunt, satisfied. He didn't bring up the giraffe again, seemingly forgotten about its insolence completely.

He has gotten a lot more protective since that talk last week.

Or would possessive be a better word? A mix I guess. He's also stopped talking with other children as much as he used to, focusing on us "the family" more.

Sure he still helps the kids when they need it, still with the same fake disgruntled-dad, you-can-do-this-you-lazy-brat, but-I'm-going-to-do-it-anyway-because-I'm-a-big-softy-but-don't-tell-anyone look.

He has an odd charisma that puts children at ease despite the unnerving impression he gives many adults. Eyes especially.

Normally a soft brown at odds with his intensity, they will occasionally flash an intimidatingly beautiful gold. The haunting hue suiting his intensity much better.

 _He doesn't like them. I've no clue why._

That's all cut back a bit now.

I feel guilty for thinking this, but I like it. I like it when he's with me and Domi and not the other children. It's naughty of me to think so, but I don't like sharing.

Guess I'm also a bit possessive huh?

"You wanna get a drink." He abruptly asks. "I need something to wash down the falafels."

I smile wryly at his obsession with the food. But… "Sure."

He leads the way. Still walking with that stiff posture that makes him look taller. Sad thing is that it works. He does look taller and more intimidating.

He's acting like a peacock, puffing up his chest. That breakdown from a week ago still affecting him heavily, he's yet to fully recover.

Most passerbys subtly give him his space as we walk. I very consciously move a bit closer.

It's strange. I don't mean adults being unconsciously cowed by a pre-teen- _I've gotten used to that_ \- it's just our positions are reversed.

In the past he was always the silent support to my mute fuming. Whenever I screwed up he was there. Sometimes overtly, sometimes not.

It's not like he's sulking from a mistake or anything though, I'm not sure really what to call _that_ , but the actions I'm taking so naturally…

The way my eyes so easily slide over to him every once in a while to check up on him: are his shoulders are stiff? Is he shuffling? Is he distressed?

The way I place myself. Not behind, not ahead but by his side, occasionally brushing shoulder as if to say "I'm still here."

The way I'm letting him talk and simply listen attentively. Giving him space at times while still being in the corner of his perception.

This… this is all stuff he's done for me.

The view I see now, Is the view Arayan has seen gods know how many times? The view of a boy's back in need of support.

" _Hello Perseus..."_ That guy with a scary voice I first saw from behind mom's skirt.

He's looking back at me now. Waiting for me to catch up. Those eyes that frightened me at first, now my second favourite colour.

"Fu." I let out a small… snort? Huff? A sound of contentment. Hehe. He raises an eyebrow at my smile.

"We've come quite some way huh?" I did not expect the sudden bark of laughter, but I took it.

"Yeah." He chuckled. "But we've only just started." He twirls his cane.

"... That was corny as fuck."

 _Whack_. I wasn't even mad. It felt good to laugh together again.

He told Domi and I a lot that day in the shack. There's still more he hasn't said, but it doesn't really matter. He's still not fully better, but it doesn't really matter.

He'll get better. He's tough. He'll tell us. He's my best friend. I know it. But until then...

He's like a _dad_ … but… lately I've been thinking, I'm fine with being brother too.

I glance at him. "Hehe." _Brother_. "Hehehehe."

I kick his pimp-cane.

 _Siblings annoy each other right?_

"Wha- You brat!" "Bwahahahaha~"

Mmmm.

… Could do without the inferiority complex that comes with being the younger brother though.

~AI~

If not for Percy, if not for Domi, if not for mother, I would be a raving mad sociopath by now.

The trigger for the most recent breakdown was a sense of elevated alienation after all. Discrimination outside of discrimination if you will.

I perceive myself as far too different to those around, to the point I doubt I would be able to form meaningful connections during an orphaned childhood.

A superiority complex perhaps? Psychopathy maybe, sociopathy definitely. My innate sadism would become less playful and more vicious I suspect. That would likely continue as I grew, blooming into something disgusting and wretched.

I don't like the thought of me without the people I know around me.

Even now, as a "reincarnation", the disassociation I feel is even greater than what a normal demi-god would feel. Don't even get me started on the whole fictional world shite.

If not for my anchors, my family, who knows…

Still. I'm glad it happened when it did.

"Good morning class. Due to the unexpected, but joyous news of pregnancy, Mrs Sanders has elected to retire from her job as History teacher for this and likely next year." The man said, his voice a pleasant timbre.

"As such, the school has seen fit to hire me." He looked at us from his wheelchair. "I'm your new History teacher."

When he smiled his eyes crinkled, crow feet showing his age. His entire presence was warm and welcoming. His neatly groomed beard and immaculate pinstripe suit exuded a sense of scholarly culture.

"My name is Mr Brunner." He wheeled over to the desk. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

I ignored the whispers. This time I had no interest in the gossip of my fellows. I simply shared a glance with Percy, then Domi.

Internally, I sighed.

 _He's early._

.

.

.

 **AN** : Rants. Character development. Character development focused dialogue. _Spit-spit._

Tis been a while. This was meant to come out earlier this week, but I was distracted by Shimousa over on FGO. My apologies.

This was also meant to be a lot longer, in fact it was. Standing at a proud 12,000 words, written over the course of _months…_ it was **shit**.

Allow me to rant a bit about rants.

I tier rants. The come in levels of quality.

\- Level 1. At the bottom is the shit tear. The Troll tier. The crappy stuff you're honestly not sure if written as a joke, or the speaker is an irredeemable idiot.

\- Level 2. One up you have the "profound 14 year-old." They are the lil dipshits who write " _When I opened my eyes. I can see._ " and caption it over some pretty girls eyes. Well we can't really hate on them too much, they are young. It's just really cringy and occasionally you get the obnoxious one who actually needs to be told to tone it down for their own good.

Incidentally, this tier could also be named the "high as fuck" tier, but I think they are _Level 2.5_ instead of _Level 2_ like the "profound teen" tier. Mainly because the shit high people spout are generally (at least) a little funny.

\- Level 3. "Rubbish, bet eh." Most internet denizens have been desensitised to quality of this level. It's the poorly executed rants that are full of grammar mistakes, lack sources, bad spelling, often completely baseless and unwarranted, but _sometimes_ we can get the general gist of it.

\- Level 4. Average. "School work." things the average student would submit for English homework and get a C on.

\- Level 5. Above average. "Something that might be praised if posted online". Maybe. B grade.

\- Level 6. Good quality. "Not bad bro." Things we understand. Things we can relate to. Things that evoke empathy, utilise pathos and etc. Things we might remember for a week or so. B~A grade

\- Level 7. High quality. "I get you bro!" Solid A grade. This is the level at which intelligent lifeforms rise up to read, analyse, nitpick and argue for and against in a civilised manner.

\- Level 8. "It's so fine, imma smoke it." The stuff that picks you up. It's the well documented smackdowns Harvard millennials lay upon boomers. Things that are worshipped on Reddit. That stuff.

\- Level 9. "We were not prepared." The stuff that empowers you as a woman even though you're a 30-year-old married man. The stuff that would have you offer your ass to the monitor in submission. The stuff that drives you to watch alpha-male hypno videos on porn websites to regain your masculinity… _all in vain_.

\- Level 10. This is the "8man" tier, named after Hikigaya Hachiman. Now I know, re-watching the series years later, I realise what I watched wasn't _quite_ as good as it was the first time. There are holes in his philosophy, but that "something sincere" rant hit me so hard at the time, I sorta put the anime on a bit of a pedestal.

Anyway. Level 10 is the stuff you carry with you. Doesn't matter the source, if it's something you find yourself agreeing with, without even realising it, then it's something good. Those rants word things you never knew how to.

… I'm not sure where this Levelling system came from exactly, but there you go.

Now what Arayan does in this chapter is not quite a rant, but it's close enough I think.

The monologue is around Level 4 with Level 5 grammar checking (god knows how many times I've re-read this), but I'm afraid the subject topic and base is more Level 3.

To be honest, I've re-read this chapter so many _goddamn_ times, I've lost an objective point of view. I honestly don't know how this will read to others since I have it almost memorised inside out.

Also. This was waaaaay longer before. As I said 12,000 words. Wtf.

I spent longer editing and condensing and refining and rewriting than I did actually getting those 12,000 words down.

Now the chapter is at a cool 6,500 words, or thereabouts. I cut this thing in half bro!

Jeez.

Whatever. I've done all I can here.

My apologies if this is a let down to all those who waited, each and everyone of your _likes_ were like stabs to the heart. I do so very apologise for the long wait.

I'd like to finish this with an apology for disappointing you all, but that would be in bad taste, so instead let me say:

Thanks for reading. See you next time.


	6. Chapter 6: Much ado about Nothing

**~AI~**

* * *

I dreamt of a long passageway. There were no windows, the ceiling low, the walls unadorned and the floor covered in a colourless carpet. There was a distinct lack of light sources, yet everything was washed in a dull monochrome grey.

My muffled footsteps padded down what one could liken to a colour-leached office corridor.

I was attentive to my surroundings, but the only distinguishing features of the walk were the lack of features itself.

That changed with my next step. There was an outline on the walls. Identical and parallel, it looked as if someone had sketched a human sized rectangle on the grey paint.

My body did not stop to examine them as I passed yet another identical pair a moment later.

The walk continued with this new trend.

The rectangles grew more and more defined as I went. They began to gain depth, sinking into the walls slightly. Grooves along the outlines appeared as I walked further down.

Soon enough I realised them for what they were:

 _Doors._

I was walking down a spooky office corridor of blank doors.

The doors had no handles, I noted.

Everything sped up, as if the dream was rushing to it's finale.

I reached the end of the corridor. There was yet another door before me.

Unlike every other door that I passed in the rapid blur, this one boasted a handle, but more notably, it was slightly ajar.

My body once more acted of its own accord, hand rising to the handle without another moment wasted.

I felt the sensation of warm metal beneath my fingers.

* * *

 **~AI~**

* * *

I woke up.

My hand stretched upwards reaching for the ceiling, touching only warm air. I let it flop with a sigh.

Almost immediately, the vision I just slept degraded slightly, like a photograph fading from its corners. This was the norm.

Fortunately, I don't believe there were any pressing details I passed on the outskirts of the dream. The core of the photo remained intact.

I sniffed.

Pulling the duvet up other my nose, bleary eyes wandered to a window. It was unlit. The sun had yet to rise.

 _Ugh…_

Snuggling deeper into my bed, I discontinued any notion of arising while embracing the lazy warmth. I turned my mind to deciphering my latest dream… or, affirming it anyway. The meaning was fairly obvious.

It was a rather simple one.

A featureless corridor, my body walking inadvertently. False doors without handles. Then that ending, a rushed finale. The corridor ending in a door not only with a handle but already opened.

 _Yes, the meaning of this dream was rather simple:_

My head slipped under the duvet entirely with a soft groan.

 _The illusion of choice._

More displeased sounds came from within. I curled up. My eyes now level with my knees.

I let loose a long, resigned groan.

 _My blissful childhood nears its end..._

* * *

 **~AI~**

* * *

Mrs Sanders. The history teacher Mr Bruner has replaced. A side character by any definition…. And my current prey.

I had to find her.

I needed to confirm something.

I was not accompanied by my Percy today. By my side instead was my Domi. A most fearsome beast, yet seldom would you find a creature more pure and loyal.

Today, her function is not dissimilar to a hunting dog. She's my magic sniffer hound.

The streets were fairly empty, only those free of the standard work hours could enjoy the sun at this time… or those choosing to ignore their educational responsibilities like us.

Confirming our place on the map I held, I looked at my partner and then nodded towards an alley. Domi, _significantly_ quieter when on our hunting trips, inclined her head in acceptance at the non-vernal instruction.

 _Not that she had_ _ **ever**_ _denied me anything… a tad worrying to think about..._

The alley was hardly clean, crisp bags, lolly sticks and gum were prevalent, but it was not outright disgusting. The three of us had tolerated far worse on our stints over the years.

I sat while Domi knelt behind a steep access ramp that led to a bricked up doorway. The map was laid out in front of us, each of its four corners held down by palmwood cubes soaked in my own blood.

I handed the albino three of my coins; these were fairly small, only 6cm across, and hung like medallions by pieces of string thread through them.

Domi, still silent, accepted the coins in cupped hands. My friend looked strangely pious at times like these. Whenever I, or sometimes Percy, gave her one of our trinkets to use, she always slips into this weird mood.

She treated the stuff as if they were _actually_ important, and not made of my spit and paper-mache.

Frankly, it worried me.

I was not stupid. Domi was reacting to us, but I did not know why or how. Her heritage was still a mystery to me, a fact that irritated me greatly. I could only keep her in mind as I moved deeper behind the mist.

 _One day I will find a definite answer, one that I can use to help my friend._

Oblivious to my expositions, Domi had laid two of the coins flat while she tied the string of the third around her index finger.

She looked to me for permission, I nodded. She held her hand, coin dangling from a finger, over the map.

It was obvious to any who might care to look, we were up to some serious voodoo.

My partner waited for me to initiate the second part of the divination. "Domi." _Domitia_. "Find Mrs Sanders." _Find Clare Tina Sanders._ I made sure to annunciate my orders very clearly.

The coin that hung from a string on Domi's finger started to swing.

Domi, _**very**_ _slowly_ , moved her hand in the direction of the swinging as the strain of divination made itself known on the coin. Green mist and bronze paper crumbles trailed behind the coin on the map.

This was a method inspired by Ball Dowsing divination. In the past, people would attach metal or crystal to a small chain and use the way it swings to determine water sources.

I do the same, but with far more accuracy and variance in target.

It was using this method I tracked down an offshoot pack of Ungrateful Strays not so long ago.

However, Domi was simply better at using them than I. The way I imagine it; the coin, by swaying, tugs the user in a certain direction. I am too large to properly "pull" but Domi is "small".

Domi is weaker than I, and thus more responsive to the small pull of the coin.

That said, she can't "trigger" a reaction by herself. She is small and weak, lacking the force behind her words to move my coins into action. That is why I have to tell her what to find.

I give her the scent in a name. She sniffs it out.

I craft, she channels. In this sense, Domi was my instrument, my medium… my oracle.

The thought, nay they mere _term_ , left a strangely bittersweet taste in my mouth. Being similar to… _**that**_ , yet being closer to Domi… My feelings on the matter far too jumbled to properly analyse.

… _I really have some_ _ **major**_ _dad issues._

The coin finally gave, crumbling into shiny paper dust and green mist.

Domi moved clockwise from one side of the map to another. There she repeated the process, she tied the string to a finger and let the coin swing freely in a certain direction.

The coin crumbled.

Domi used the third coin from the third side of the map.

The coin crumbled.

Finally, she returned to my side where I was marking the general lines of the three angles. I circled the area where the lines crossed.

 _A small park, shops, a coffee place, a restaurant and_ … my eyes narrowed as my instincts went ping, _a rather nice apartment block_.

I tapped the square on the map.

"Here."

I would use the state Mrs Sander to gauge the approach of Chiron and determine what actions I should take moving forward.

* * *

 **~PJ~**

* * *

Yan decided it was his turn to make my lunchbox...

 _Darn._

I analyse the unidentified lumps with wary eyes. In reality, it was only really bad half the time, and recently there has been a general improvement, but the traumas committed against my taste-buds were not so easily forgotten.

 _It smells like… beetroot?_ Pungent _beetroot. Russian?_

Solidified borscht soup? Borscht meat jelly? How do I even _know_ what that is?

I poke the lumps with a spork. They wobble. Why must they wobble?

I sigh.

If only one of us had the heart to tell Yan he wasn't as good at cooking as he thought he was… no. No that's a lie, he _is_ as good as he thinks he is, skill-wise, it's just… these self-made recipes are _fucking shit!_

Curse our bleeding hearts!

But how the heck are we supposed to tell him no when he smiles like that?! It's too hard! In the first place, Yan only smiles honestly on super, _super_ rare occasions (not counting his ma), and no, smirks, smug smiles, and sadistic smiles don't count.

But when he cooks, makes something, he always has this small, little, tiny, minuscule content smile. I've only seen similar when he was sleeping or after I finished a difficult training session and he thinks I'm not looking.

How do you deny that smile huh? C'mon, tell me! Yeah, that's right, you _can't_.

That thing is practically invincible.

The only upside of all this is Yan hasn't realised how effective the thing is, else who knows what he's have us (me) doing.

I have a recurring nightmare wherein we are standing at the open doors of a plane at high altitude. Below was a rolling tide of thundering clouds as far as the eye could see. I looked at Yan, he smiled.

I'd wake up in a cold sweat and the sense of falling every time.

Thing is, if Yan thought having me try to fly would toughen me up, that asshole would make me do it without hesitation.

 _Goddamn spartan._

I hide a sigh. The things we do for love.

*Chomp*

… _Not.. bad...?_

The taste of the stuff is decent I suppose, but the texture is really off putting…

 _I've had worse._

I sigh in relief. It's edible.

I don't really think I should have to confirm something like that though, nor should it be a cause of celebration really.

The things we do for lo- wait, I've already said that.

I wish Domi and Yan would hurry up and finish their hunt already. It's lonely by myself.

I sig- _I smell something_. It's a scent that has steadily become familiar over the past half-week. I very carefully _do not_ tense. Now I sigh.

Half swivelling on the steps I'd chosen as my lunch spot, at look at the figure wheeling himself towards me.

"Heya Mr Bruner." My voice is light and breezy.

"Hello Perseus." His timber rich as old oak.

I really hate doing this stuff alone, but looks like I gots no choice… _crummy fishsticks._

 _Hurry back you two._

* * *

 **~AI~**

* * *

The centaur in disguise had said Mrs Sanders had taken leave "due to the unexpected, but joyous news of pregnancy," word for word.

How... _convenient._

Therein lies the clue.

There are three results I foresee.

When Mr Bruner said the news of pregnancy was "unexpected, but joyous" it really _was_ just that and nothing else. Mr Bruner simply saw the opening and took it. This does however mean that we have been under observation for some time by people other than Percy's father. That is not good.

Second; Mist or similar supernatural persuasions were used to gloss over the entire affair. Mrs Sanders isn't pregnant, she's just been directed elsewhere. A simple conclusion, but also lazy.

Might this indicate sloppiness, even arrogance, from the Centaur?

Third was a mix of the previous two. The Centaur, or whoever was in charge of these things, _convinced_ Mrs Sanders to get pregnant.

She is a _Mrs_ after all, would it be quite easy to get her and (presumably) her husband horny no?

This was perhaps slightly amoral, but the most sure way. "Mrs Sanders has gotten pregnant thus needs replacing for a while," nothing said is a lie.

With that in mind, one must know the mist is not a fix-all mind control power, it is _hypnotism_. And forcing such a large change in a short amount of time, _will_ have consequences on the subject.

There is residue. Leftovers Domi and I can analyse.

 _Hopefully._

How much of it was coincidence, and how much of it was manipulation. By investigating this, I will be able to better understand the character that is Chiron.

Now one may think this all unnecessary, after all, what reason do I have to doubt the trainer of heroes? Not only that, but the half-guy was nothing but benign in the books, the prototypical wise teacher with a storied background.

So why?

To answer: **I'm bloody paranoid.**

This land, is. Not. Canon. It is reality. And fact is stranger than fiction. I shall make no assumptions. Previous knowledge will be accounted for, but never solely relied on.

This mentality has proven beneficial over the years.

Like when facing those damnable baby hydras or the tentacle monster and even those stupid flying fish things that made bee noises…

 _Reality had long since eaten canon for breakfast._

So for all I know, Camp Half-Blood is a brutal child-labour camp or an institute producing demi-god assassins for Olympus. It could be a place that you can't leave after entering.

… That's exaggerating a bit, my instincts tell me the centaur is not a bad man.

 _But my wariness, after it's served me so well, is now habitual._

I am completely okay with that fact.

"You okay?" _If it protects this…_ Domi snuggled further into my shoulder, nodding silently. "We can wait a bit more if you need it."

We were sat on grass, my back to the base of a tree, Domi previously napping on my side.

After a few deep breaths, Domi rose, her eyes bleary and unfocused. We were resting under shade in a park near the apartment block our search led too. It was near midday, but Domi was looking ready for bed.

Channelling… _me_ , I suppose, was taxing on her.

She just barely managed to not flop forward into my chest once more. "M'fine." She mumbled.

I frowned. Despite her sunhat, her second-skin sleeves, her sunblock and us resting under the shade of a tree for the past half-hour, her skin was still a splotchy red. It looked irritated.

Placing a palm on her forehead I realised she was warm to the touch. My instincts were certain she would be running a high temperature tomorrow.

 _I will nurse her better_ , I decided.

We've done enough today anyway. We've got a place, looked around the surrounding area and familiarised ourselves with the outside of the building. Finding Mrs Sanders herself can wait till another day, for now, let's head ho-

"No." Domi headbutted me… or, tried to. More like she touched her forehead to mine softly. "Let's… finish this t'day." She was almost slurring.

"We dunno how long you 'n' Percy 'ave left…" She blinked away her tiredness, "we dunno how long it would take for me to get better," she sat back, "Let's finish this today."

She is a child, my paranoia has influenced a child into acting like this. I felt like shit, but when do I not? This might not even be necessar- no, I can't think that.

Even if it's not necessary _this_ time, there has been plenty of other times it has. I am the oldest of us three, and as the oldest I have a _duty of care_.

Even if she suffers now, this will she is showing and the selflessness to persevere for another will serve her well later in life.

This is making her strong, and the knowledge we seek may be crucial in the future.

 _That's what I must keep telling myself._

"Okay." Holding Domi's had I stood and then helped her. "Let's do this." I gave her hand a squeeze. "And head home quickly."

My paranoia is hurting her, but if my paranoia might also protect us?

 _If it protects us, who cares if I'm paranoid._

…

..

.

"Jean? Jean Sanders? She and her husband went missing two days ago. No one knows where. All their things are untouched, most of us thought she'd gone to surprise her parents, but they were the one to phone us! I'm sure they're fine though, probably with some friends out of town, got some bad reception. She was well liked after all, the block even celebrated the news of her pregna..."

I tuned the man out as he continued to ramble. Domi shifted by my side. I felt a sense of unease. Mysterious disappearances were hardly uncommon to us.

And so soon after being replaced by the Centaur.

"... Still, I do hope they're alright…"

I glanced at Domi, the red of her skin even more pronounced.

"Come to think of it, wasn't Jean a teacher?"

I grit my teeth.

"Are two of her students? Wait, why do you want to know where Jean is anyway?"

By the time the too talkative man regained his senses, we were gone.

 _What a waste._

* * *

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* * *

 **AN** : _Hello... It's me. I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet…_

Yeah. Been a while.

This is not a full chapter unfortunately. I've actually been sitting on this half complete for quite a while. This is the chapter of writer block, it has also spawned a few other stories as a result.

Still, I decided to poop this out now instead of waiting till it got to the usual length, because god knows how long that would take.

This is the part where I say updates will get more frequent, alas that is not to be.

I am entering my Final Major Project (FMP) period, which is basically the exam you do for art courses, but it's done over the course of 3-4 months.

I need a specific grade to be accepted to my University of choice, so I'll be buckling down, focusing on academics.

That said, it's not like I won't be writing, it's just the writing I'll do will be me venting stress, and not writing for pleasure. Then again, some of the best chapters I've written were under stress, so eh.

What comes, comes.

The likes I receive after so long were like stabs to the heart. The guilt aided me quite a bit in getting out of the writers block, so congrats! I guess.

I hope you enjoyed.

 _PS. I've rewritten, reworded and reordered this so many times, it's almost certain I've missed typos or made grammar mistakes. I wouldn't be surprised if lines or even paragraphs are out of order too. Just point them out and I'll fix it asap._


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